


Marked Man

by WantingMemories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Beer, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Mark - Freeform, Sexual Humor, Sexuality, Slash, Time Travel, Weechesters, angel - Freeform, lice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 62,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WantingMemories/pseuds/WantingMemories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam discovers a mark on Dean's scalp that Castiel recognizes as an old claim by an angel. No way Dean's going to be married to a random angel against his will. He'll go to the past to stop it. Set before 6.17</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Buggy Discovery

“Dude, I am so _not_ shaving my head!”

“I didn’t say you had to—”

“Oh but you implied it!”

Sam stepped back from his frustrating older brother. “I said that if the combing and shampoo doesn’t _work_ , then we _might_ have to _think_ about shaving your head.”

The man on the chair in front of him just huffed. Sam shook his head and stepped forward to run his fingers and a fine-toothed comb back through Dean’s short hair.  “And we’ll need to wash your clothes in—I dunno—Dawn or something.”

Dean simply crossed his arms over his chest and let Sam continue his work. After a moment, he reached for the TV remote on the small table and it flicked on to some inane game show. He quickly found the animal channel—Sam at least wouldn’t _bitch_ about that—and placed the remote back on the table. He leaned on his elbow and scratched his nose with the free arm.

He heard his brother mutter something from behind him. “Hm?”

“I just don’t know how you got lice.” He knew Sammy was shaking his head even though he couldn’t see it.

The shorter man kicked out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. “I dunno. Maybe from the last hotel. It was pretty skuzzy. We should check you after we are done with me, just to make sure.”

Sam cringed at the idea. He had so much more hair than his brother; it would be a real pain. He busied himself with the methodical motion of parting and combing, parting and combing. At least along the back and sides, Dean’s hair was very short, making it easier to deal with the thick hair. He was saving the crown for last.

There was a snort from the man in the chair. “It’d be pretty funny if we had to shave _your_ head.”

Sam rolled his eyes and just let the comment slide off. He hadn’t had hair shorter than an inch since he was twelve, and didn’t wish to repeat it. The longer but styled hair suited him better—it showed he knew how to take care of himself and had an air of sophistication. He hoped. Otherwise he just looked, well, skuzzy.

There was no more stalling. He’d cleaned the sides and back of Dean’s head—luckily with only a few egg sacks found and disposed of—and now he had to move on to the dense crown of hair. He hadn’t seen any live bugs, which is good. Meant the first sweep with the shampoo helped some. He moved his fingers to run through the hair just above the natural swirl at the crown.

Dean felt Sam stop mid-part.

“What is it?” No answer, just the feel of his brother’s still fingers against his scalp. A flood of images of a nightmare-sized bug buried in his mane assaulted him. “Sammy, tell me what you see _now_.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Nothing—looking pretty clear actually.” His fingers continued to brush over the same spot on his scalp, folding back the hair. Dean felt himself relax a bit. “Uh, when did you get that?”

“Get what?”

“The…ward? It looks like a ward.”

Dean blinked, then turned his head under his brother’s hands. “Excuse me? Please repeat.”

Sam dropped his hands slowly. His face changed from curious to something else. Maybe worried?

“Uh…the tattoo? The one on your scalp?”

Again, the older Winchester caught himself blinking. “A ward. Tattooed on my head. Under my hair?”

Sam nodded.

Dean quickly turned around in his chair and pushed it back as he got to his feet. “Show me.” He walked heavily towards the bathroom, and flicked on the light as he entered. “Come on!”

The taller man jumped a little and hurried to the bathroom, a little shocked Dean wasn’t aware of his tattoo, comb still in hand. When he entered the room, his brother had palmed a small mirror he kept in his toiletry bag—or as Dean called it, the “shitter sack.” Dean was leaning back against the sink, trying to angle himself just right in the large mirror to see what Sam had mentioned.

Sam grabbed the mirror from him, which caused a huffy curse, then turned him by the shoulders so he was facing the large mirror. “Here,” he said as he held up the small round mirror in one hand, and parted Dean’s hair with his other. From this angle, Dean could clearly see what Sam had been talking about, though of course it was backwards.

The brand—and it _was_ a brand he was sure now that he was looking at it—was black as if his skin were charred and did not heal beyond that into a pink scar. There was no hair missing or singed though, and it wasn’t causing pain. He reached back as Sam patiently held the mirror and the hair aside, and touched the “burnt” skin. It felt just like the rest of his scalp, and the touch didn’t cause a flare-up of pain or discomfort.

Dean dropped his hand and studied the actual symbol. It was very hard to make out with hair covering it in patches. Plus it was pretty small—no larger than a quarter—and backwards.

“What’s the symbol, Sammy?” He knew it wasn’t something he was particularly familiar with, but maybe his nerd brother would be.

He watched as Sam put aside the small mirror and grazed his fingers through the hair with a concentrating look on his face. He squinted his eyes and leaned forward. After a moment, he pulled back a bit, ran his hands over the scalp once more to part the hair, then backed off. “I dunno.” He shrugged.

Dean glared at Sam in the mirror. “Whatda mean, ‘dunno’?”

Sam shrugged again—it was annoying—and pursed his lips. “I mean I haven’t seen it before. It looks a little like a pentagram.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Oh well that’s not bad…”

“It also looks a little like the wards Cas does when he’s protecting us from angels.”

“You’re saying that it looks like Enochian?” He turned away from the mirror and flicked off the light as he exited the bathroom, leaving Sam in the dark.

Sam followed him into the “bedroom.” “Uh, yeah it does.”

Dean eyed his brother critically. “Castiel!”  He suddenly yelled. He sounded a little pissy, Sam had to admit.

Within a matter of seconds, Cas was in front of Dean. _Of course._ The angel always came when his human called. Sam sometimes wondered if Dean called out for Cas while he was in hell, and just didn’t know it.

The angel wearing Jimmy Novak’s meat suit addressed them as casually as he could. “Dean. Sam.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, and felt his face grow a little hot in irritation as he began. “Cas, you’ve got something you’d like to tell me?”

Castiel blinked and cocked his head to the side. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come clean, man.”

“I-I am not dirty,” the raspy voice spoke slowly as he processed Dean’s question.

“My head, Cas. What did you do to my head?”

“I did nothing. Is it broken?”

Sam’s laughter just made Dean feel like growling.

“You can’t just mess with another guy’s body, Cas. You need to ask first.”

The look on Castiel’s face was somewhere between utter confusion and slight panic. Sam could tell than the poor guy wasn’t on the same wavelength as Dean.

Opening his mouth, the angel stalled for just a moment. He took a second to close it and restart. “I assure you, I have done nothing to your body, Dean.” A slight warmth was building into Cas’s cheeks, and Sam wondered if Dean noticed. He doubted it because his brother’s shoulders were still tense with single-mindedness.

“Furthermore,” Castiel continued, taking a small step closer to Dean. “If I _were_ to ask, what might you say?”

Dean hadn’t thought of that. He shrugged and comfortably crossed his arms over his chest. He sniffed as he thought it over, then said “Yeah okay.”

The large blue eyes seemed to grow slightly wider. “Yeah…okay…” It was almost a question.

The older Winchester shifted where he stood, resting one leg. “Yeah. I mean it’d be good for me in the end, right? You wouldn’t do anything to _hurt_ me.” Before the angel could answer, Dean continued. “But you have to _ask_ , Cas. You need to ask so I can say yes, got it?”

There was a long moment of nothing but that indefinite stare from the shorter man. Sam gawked awkwardly at the angel, hoping he hadn’t misinterpreted what Dean was talking about, but getting a sense that he probably had. Dean simply cocked his eyebrow, waiting for a response.

Slowly, Castiel nodded his understanding. “I will make sure I ask.”

Dean’s face broke into the award-winning grin. “Awesome. Now what is it anywa—”

He dropped his sentence as his angel disappeared with a quick flutter of wings.

The two brothers were left standing in their hotel room without any new information. After a moment, Dean turned to Sam and pointed at the top of his head. “Clear?”

Sam took a moment to get back on track, then nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Looked clear. No bugs.”

His older brother nodded, then pulled off his shirt. “Okay. Gonna hit the shower then.” He tossed his tee shirt at Sam as he closed the bathroom door behind him. “Dawn that shit up, Sammy.”

Sam caught the shirt and just shook his head as he turned to the sink in their tiny kitchenette.

 


	2. Whose Mark Is It Anyway?

“Fucking lice! Why _lice_?” Dean scratched as Sam began the tedious process of once again combing through dean’s hair. “And _why_ does the shampoo itch more than the bugs do?”

Dean heard his brother grumble something over his head. “For the love of _God_ , Sam! What?”

Sam’s fingers dug into his skin with a lot more pressure than they had been. “Well, Dean. I was just commenting on how a grown man who steals small children’s hats deserves what he gets.”

“I didn’t steal his hat! The little midget had it coming. He egged my _baby._ ”

Sam flicked his older brother across the ear. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“But that _is_ how you got it. The hat. I checked.”

Dean slumped in his chair. “Are you sure? You’re not just trying to get out of shaving your head are you?”

Sam ran the comb’s teeth across a more sensitive area from Dean’s scratching, and the older Winchester jerked away. Sam placed his hands on either side of Dean’s head, and pulled him back into place. “No Dean.” _Shove._ “I assure you, I do not have lice. The hat did though. That’s why I threw it in the dump outside. You’re lucky the rest of your clothes look alright.”

Dean looked around the hotel room at the damp clothes which were draped over any conceivable surface. He’d like to find a Laundromat, just to make sure they went through another washing before he put them back on. For now, he sat in his last pair of sweats and a white tee shirt that had been stowed in the back of the Impala. It smelled like it had been on the road for a while, but it was buggy free, which was a plus.

He was also free ballin’ and it felt good.

After a few minutes, the bitch spoke. “Done. You’re clear.”

“Thank you Jesus.” Dean was up faster than Sam could blink.

And Cas was in Dean’s face faster than Dean could blink.

“Fuck Cas! Space, space!”

The angel stepped back, as was customary with their ritual. He sighed, clearly having meant to get right to the point before Dean had so rudely interrupted him with his silly human ideas of personal space. Now he simply looked at his human with—Dean hated to admit it—a look that could challenge one of Sam’s bitchfaces.

“What?”

Castiel’s eyes slid from Dean to Sam. “May we speak alone for a moment, Dean?”

“Uh…sure I guess.”

Sam looked between the two men and seemed to get the hint. “Ah. Yeah. About lunch time anyway. I’ll just get us a bite to eat, yeah?” He grabbed the keys to the Impala as he moved towards the door.

“No salads.” Dean warned. “Cas and I want bacon cheeseburgers.”

The angel behind him didn’t argue, even though he no longer needed to eat human food to survive.

“Okay,” Sam decided it was better to refrain from harping on his brother about his blood pressure, perhaps this once. “I think I’ll eat out, then bring your food after. Take your time.”

He shut the door behind him as he ducked out. He suspected, based on their talk that morning, that Castiel may have some big discussion planned, and he intended not to be a part of it. Plus, Dean had no clue that Cas probably completely misunderstood the previous conversation. Sam wasn’t heartless—not even soulless anymore—but he did like putting one over on his older brother. This was almost as good as if he’d planned it himself.

 _And hey,_ he figured. _If it turns out something_ happens, _well all the better for Dean._

Though he didn’t envy his future self for potentially playing the role of damage control.

 

 

“Alright, Cas. You need something?” Dean sat on his bed and cracked his back.

There was a time when he would have probably tried to rush Cas, in an attempt to get the angel to the point. But after his time on earth, Castiel had become someone he actually liked to be around for more than a second. Even now, while the angel must have been busy in heaven, he still managed to find time to spend an evening watching bad action movies with Dean, even though Cas didn’t particularly like them. That was friendship as far as Dean was concerned, and no one had done that for him before. Dean had also made an effort to take Cas into the city on their last big hunt and visit a museum about…someone. It was a small one room cabin off of a lake, and he didn’t recall the dude’s name. Point was that Cas had liked it.

The dark-haired man before him nodded slowly. He opened his mouth, then closed it and turned away. He took a few paces, then abruptly turned and caught a few in the opposite direction. Dean’s eyes followed his friend with drawn brows. Something big was bothering Cas, and he wondered what it could be. What could possibly compare to a civil war in heaven?

“Cas?” Dean spoke more gently than he’d meant. He reached across the gap and patted the foot of Sam’s bed, indicating the angel should sit across from him.

Castiel stopped in his tracks, then nodded after taking in what his human was asking of him. He sat on the edge of the bed, trench coat bunching up around him in a careless fashion. Dean could see the man’s jaw tighten as he leaned forward and grasped his hands together.

“Dude?”

“I—” He stopped as if he were at a loss. Maybe he was. “I have come to ask, Dean.”

Ask? The cogs in the hunter’s head began to whirl. Ask what?

The dark head bent over his knees and shook slightly with a hefty sigh. “Well?”

“Huh?” The green eyes were wide and it looked as though the man were trying to figure out a puzzle.

“What is your answer, Dean?”

Answer? Dean didn’t even understand the question. The blank he was drawing was legendary. It was annoying because he was usually good at recollection. “What do you—oh.”

Castiel nodded, still refusing to look at Dean. He studied his thumbs instead.

“Uh…” Dean scratched at a particularly annoying spot on his scalp which happened to be over the mark Castiel had already left him. “Again?”

There was a moment of tense silence, then Castiel’s head shot up as if he’d just heard a gunshot. “Pardon?”

Dean blinked and wanted to back away, even though Cas was still a good three feet from him. “I mean…you need to do it again?”

The large blue eyes simply stared into his for a moment, then the classic head tilt happened. “I do not understand. What do you mean by ‘again’?”

The Winchester wondered if he were going insane. “Cas, are you high?”

“No.” 

“Drunk?”

Castiel’s eyes squinted at Dean. “No, I am not inebriated in any way.”

Dean rubbed his palms together, feeling the rough skin scrape across itself. “Is this a joke?”

“I hope so.”

“Seriously, Cas…”

“How would I not remember?”

“I dunno! I mean I just found it this morning—err well Sam found it technically.”

The angel in a man’s body did what Dean could only describe as a double-take. He pulled his head back and regarded his charge. “What did Sam find this morning, Dean?”

“The friggin’ mark you left on my head!” The man patted himself on the back of his head and pointed.

Castiel stood quickly and crossed to Dean. Dean had time to think that this was the _third_ time today a dude was gonna have his fingers in his hair, before his angel touched him softly. _Very_ softly. Dean caught himself leaning back into the caresses as the man fingered the crown of his head. Damn. He never knew he liked his head rubbed!

Then Cas’s fingers stalled. He must have come to the mark because Dean could practically hear the angel thinking way too hard. Then something occurred to Dean for the first time.

“Not your handiwork?”

He felt fingers brush over his scalp again. “I am afraid not.”

Dean let out a long breath, but felt a stone drop in his gut. “So, who’s is it?”

“I am unsure. An angel, I would presume. It is a form of Enochian.”

Cas let go of his head, then sat down beside him. Dean could feel the angel’s thigh against his, but he was a little too shocked to remind Cas of personal space.

“What’s it for?” He turned his head to look at his friend.

The blue eyes blinked at him. “It is a form of protection as well as claim.”

“Oh well protection isn’t bad—“ Dean’s eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly open. “Claim?”

The angel beside of him nodded. He looked kinda pissed, but also downright depressed.

“What kind of claim?”

Castiel’s eyes flicked away from him and he cleared his throat. His voice seemed even more raspy than normal—wrecked. “It is a soul claim, Dean.”

Dean felt his shock break and his expression turned to that of outrage. “What the hell? Someone owns my _soul_?”

The angel pushed himself off the bed and began to pace. His motions were contained but fluid, very animal-like. “No, that is not what a soul claim is. You still own your soul and retain full rights to it.”

The hunter’s eyes darted back and forth as he watched Cas pace, then looked to his hands, then back to Cas. “Well then fucking tell me already. Don’t keep me in suspense, man.”

Castiel stopped across the room and narrowed his shoulders as if preparing for a battle. “It is the highest claim an angel cam make on a human. It is used when the angel wishes to keep others of our kind from bonding with a human.” He turned to Dean and advanced on him, his face opening.

“But I already had claim over you. My mark on your shoulder makes that so. I am your angel, and you are my charge…”

“A guardian angel?” Dean provided.

“Precisely. No other angel had the _right_ to claim you while I was still around!” Jimmy Novak’s face began to burn with Castiel’s apparent anger.

Dean wasn’t sure, but he thought he might be a little scared of the being in front of him. “Uh can’t you just find him or her and talk to them?”

The angel turned from Dean with an exaggerated movement from his neck, and he began to pace once more. The hunter worried that the hotel floor would end up in ruts. “The mark on your scalp supersedes any mark I have made. Since it is the highest, it is the most powerful. My handprint is null and void as long as this other angel has marked you.”  Dean could see his friend’s jaw working.

“Okay, so…” he rubbed his hands on his knees, liking the soft feel of the sweats against his rough palms. “So, we find out who did it and just make them remove it. Then you can add your own mark.”

There was a small explosion from Castiel and Dean was startled enough he closed his eyes just in case he was about to pop out of his meat suit. “There is no removal. It is permanent!”

After a small break, Dean opened his eyes to find Cas staring at him. His face was still open and extremely readable, but now it lacked the anger and held a form of sheer aw.

“You would have…let me mark you?”

Dean shrugged. “Sure. There’s no other angel I’d rather be stuck with than you. And it would fend off other angels, right?”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped a little. “It would have, but I didn’t act quickly enough. I wouldn’t consider it without your permission.” He plopped down onto the bed next to Dean.

The man felt his hand reach for Cas’s knee, and he patted it soothingly. “It’s cool, Cas. We’ll just find a way to break the claim.”

“Dean, it is impossible.”

“Dude.” Castiel looked at his human, as that was clearly what Dean wished for him to do. “You know me and ‘impossible.’”

A small smile broke out on the blue-eyed man’s face. “I suppose that is true.”

Dean nodded. “Damn right.” He patted Cas once more before he stood and stretched. “So, why would some random angel do this to me anyway? Why would an angel want to claim a human?”

Castiel clasped his hands together again. “They were used more frequently when angels were allowed to mate with humans. At that time, they were a form of what you would call a marriage bond.”

The hunter stopped mid-stride. “Marriage?”

“But that is not the marks’ only purpose.”

“Am I married?”

“Dean, focus. Whatever the relationship between human and angel, this mark indicates that the angel is dedicated solely to the human. The angel cares for the human more than even our Lord God.”

A million thoughts exploded through Dean’s head. The first was that most angels didn’t seem to give a crap about God, but then he figured it was more a reflection on how Castiel would explain the mark. Castiel—the last angel with pure blind faith. This lead to the thought that Cas had said he would have marked Dean. Did that mean Cas cared for him more than God?

Dean’s gaze fell on the shorter man and his breath caught in his chest. Yes, he did think that is what he meant to Cas.

The last thought he had simply pushed down the rest, and it was concerning his new predicament.

“So, what angel cares for me that much?”

Cas looked up to him for a moment without answer. _Fuck_ , Dean thought. _Cas of course._

“I do not have an answer for you, Dean.” Cas seemed to wish he never would.

 


	3. No Such Thing As Fool Proof

“Alright so other angels can sense it?”

Cas chewed on his burger as if he were starving. He wasn’t even hungry, but the taste and the exercise to his jaw was comforting. “No. They cannot. Otherwise I would have a long time ago.”

Dean stopped mid bite and watched as Sammy did the same. Only Sam was holding a bitch fork for his salad, while Dean had grease dripping down his wrist. “A long time ago? Just how old is this mark, Cas?”

The angel shrugged as he ripped into the meat as if it were cathartic. “I cannot tell. But I know it has been there since you were still growing.” 

Sam dropped his bitch fork. Dean stopped chewing. A trickle of grease slid down his chin. Cas reached for a napkin and held it out to the older hunter. 

“Clean yourself.” 

Dean automatically took the paper from the angel and followed instructions. It was only as he was crumbling the wad up in his fist that he gave Cas the hairy eyeball over treating him as a child.

“How do you know he was still growing?” Sam. Ever the focused one. 

Castiel took another bite and spoke through his mouthful. “It has stretched slightly while the skin grew.” 

Sam sat back in his seat, his appetite gone for the moment. “His skull would have had to have been tiny at the time of…application.”

Castiel nodded. 

“Like…small child.”

“Or younger,” the angel added while he chewed on a French fry. He considered briefly than he might be experiencing his first true denial stage. Wasn’t that what humans called a stage of grief over a significant loss? 

Dean finished his grease burger—awesome that it was—and wiped his mouth clean with a fresh napkin. “So,” he drank from his half-empty bottle of beer. “Michael?”

Cas considered this for a moment and shook his head. “No. One of the advantages to marking a human in this way is that the angel would no longer need the human’s consent to become his vessel.”

Sam chimed in, “So, _not_ Michael.” 

“The world’s still here, so nope.” Dean added for good measure. 

Cas bit into another fry as he thought to himself. “From what I seem to recall, this mark makes it nearly impossible for any angel but the marker to use the human as a vessel.”

Dean stopped eating. “So…I was safe from Michael all along?” 

The angel with the wide eyes turned to look at him. “It would appear so.” 

Both humans sat stunned while the holy being gnoshed on a handful of fried potatoes.

“Well,” Dean took a swig of beer. “ _That_ sure would have been nice to know before.”

Sam made a weird snort-like sound. “Dean. Could you imagine his reaction if he had managed to convince you to say ‘yes,’ then tried and found the door still locked?”

Dean had to admit that would have been priceless. “Heh, yeah.”

“Can we go back in time just to see his face?” Sam was talking to Castiel now. 

“I’d rather not take the chance that Michael from that time could somehow find a way in to Dean of this time. The apocalypse _could_ still occur.” His voice was nearly a growl. 

“Good point,” Sam said. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a time as they finished off their food. Even Sam had his appetite back. 

After he was finished his fries, Dean spoke up. “Could some angel have marked me to stop Michael from getting comfy in his new meat suit?” 

Cas sipped at his beer. “It is possible, but highly unlikely.”

“Most angels were on his side.” Sam suggested.

“That, yes.” Castiel nodded. “But there is the fact that in order to even make such a mark, the angel would have to truly care for Dean deeply.” 

“So it wouldn’t just be a tool.”

“Not at all. To make such a mark requires the angel to leave a part of himself within the human.”

“Wait, wait.” Dean stood to stuff his trash in a bag, then drop it in the can. 

“Yes?” Cas looked up to his human—if you could still call Dean that. 

Dean turned towards the other two. “I thought you said that an angel couldn’t leave a mark on a human after that…’ultimate’ mark was left by another.”

“I did.” Castiel nodded.

“So,” Dean continued, “how did you leave a handprint on me when I’ve had that mark since I was little?”

“The mark was not there before mine.”

Dean watched as Cas took another sip of beer, as if he were just dealing with the taste enough to get it down. 

“Dude. You aren’t making sense. What about the stretchy skin?”

“My mark came first, then the second mark came after, but while you were a child.”

“You mean time travel?”

“Yes, an angel’s timeline does not waver when one of our own changes the course of the human world. So, even though Dean received the mark from this other angel first in his timeline, I still was the first to mark him by angelic time. I suspect the angel who marked you deviated from his timeline sometime between when I pulled you from hell, and indefinitely into the future.”

“Indefinitely?” Dean was once again slack-jawed.  

“Well, I would venture it is safe to assume that it would be between that point, and your death, since he must have known you before going to such length to lay claim to you. I doubt he would alter time over a photograph.” 

“Well, I am one hansom devil.” Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s smirk. 

Cas held his bottle between two hands on the table. He seemed to stare into the glass, distracted from the world. His shoulders sagged as he took another gulp of the now warm fluid. 

Sam finished his salad and strode over to the trash can to stuff the container away. He leaned against the small length of countertop with his brother. He unconsciously glanced down to Dean’s head to inspect the mark, but the hair—as always—covered it completely. 

“Would the angel have had to touch Dean to make the mark?” Sam asked as he turned back to the man at the table. 

Castiel nodded slowly as he twisted the bottled in his grasp, sliding it in a circle on the surface of the table. Sam shoved his fingers in his pocket, letting his thumbs stick out. “Is there any way we could go back in time and stop it? I mean if we could pin-point the incident.”

The dark haired man looked back up to the sasquatch. “I am unsure if that would cancel out the angel’s timeline. Something tells me it would not work.” 

That’s when Dean decided to chime in. “Well, couldn’t we try? I mean…you have uber powers again right?”

Cas hesitated before he spoke, running his fingers up and down the glass surface. Dean watched the caress, thinking about when the angel had searched through his hair before. His focus snapped back to the topic at hand when Cas decided to speak. 

“I am concerned that I would need to be there with you to deter or defeat the angel, and that could put me in jeopardy. If that were to occur, the two of you could become stuck in that time period.”

Sam nodded as he crossed his arms, and Dean agreed. “Good point,” the hunter said in his rough voice. “What about Balthazar?”

Castiel looked at Dean for the first time in the last five minutes—something highly unusual for him since he tended to watch the human incessantly—and focused on the man’s eyes. The green was catching a softer beam of light from the window in the kitchenette. It was distracting. 

“You mean to use him as a back-up?” 

“Yeah. You think he’d do it?”

The angel was once again glaring into him—something which used to freak Dean the fuck out, but was now weirdly comforting. He glanced at Sammy and decided he’d never share that bit of information with his little brother, for fear that he’d never live it down. 

“Balthazar,” Cas began, and Dean turned back to watch him. “He does not understand my dedication to you two. He has spoken against my involvement in your lives.” The blue eyes dropped away from Dean’s. “But he is a true friend and loyal. He may be willing to help if he knew I would put myself in danger.”

“I—we don’t want you in danger, Cas.” Dean spoke before he could contain himself. There was a noticeable half smile from the angel across the room. Sam covered his mouth, and said nothing, but damned if Dean didn’t suspect he was thinking something. 

Castiel’s smile remained as he pushed out his chair to get up. “Very well. I will simply indicate to him that I may be in danger, but keep the plan safe in reality. Will that do?”

Dean looked at Sam, who just raised his eyebrows. “Sounds alright. We have to do something after all. Don’t want some angel to just jump me.”

Both Sam and Cas turned their heads to look at him. Cas’s expression was neutral, but Sam’s mouth was hanging open. 

“Jesus, guys. I meant using me as a vessel. Which he _could_ do. Very real concern here.” He pushed away from the counter and headed to his bed, where he flopped down to relax. “And another thing: why are we now assuming the angel I am married to is male?”

The laughter from Sam covered Castiel’s response. The angel stopped and waited patiently for the younger brother to come back to himself. It took a moment, but quickly enough Sam managed to settle down and take some deep breaths. 

Cas eyed Sam somewhat critically before turning to Dean. “I was simply using the single pronoun so as not to complicate my speech patterns. I seem to recall that when I am overly formal or ‘wordy’ it makes you ‘zone out.’ Am I correct?”

Dean could only nod. 

“So, I chose _one_ pronoun. And since ‘it’ is generally reserved for inanimate objects, I went with he. Besides, your angel is technically neither male nor female regardless of his vessel’s sex.”

Dean wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but apparently Sam did. 

“Right because angels are sexless.”

Castiel nodded. “That is correct. However, many of us prefer one gender identity.”

“Do you prefer male, Cas?” Of course Sam would ask that. Kid love psycho shit too much. Dean was getting pretty friggin’ uncomfortable with the discussion though. 

Cas was a dude. He had pizza and beer with him, could talk to him, and he was the best companion to have along for a hunt. If Cas were a girl, Dean would probably be shacking up with him. But Cas wasn’t a chick, he was a dude. No chicks were like that. Lisa came close, and Jesus she was nearly perfect. But she couldn’t hunt with him, so there could be no future there. Never mind Ben, who he loved like his own kid he would probably never have. Just another reason he couldn’t be around them while he hunted. Kid didn’t need that life.  And if Dean were honest with himself, he didn’t think he’d ever get out of the game. Either he’d die young from the job, or he would be on a walker answering phones for other hunters. 

If Cas were a chick, a chick who could hunt and posed no danger of accidental pregnancy, Dean would probably hit that. But Cas wasn’t a chick. Cas was a dude, and that was that. 

Dean was rocked from his thoughts once the angel finally decided to answer. He must have been thinking it over. 

“I have never been within a female body for more than minutes at a time, so I cannot name a preference in that manner. However, I have begun to feel more like a male in my time on earth. Perhaps this is because of Jimmy’s body. Perhaps it is because I spend most of my earth time with males. This I cannot be certain of, but I often find I self identify as a ‘brother’ when speaking to my siblings. Before, I used the term we have for the neutral sibling.”

“See?” Dean spoke without thinking _again_. “Cas is a dude.”

He felt Sam’s eyes on him, and he decided it would be best if he rolled over so that his back was to the other two. 

“I would be willing to try out a female form to satisfy my curiosity.”

Dean felt like he might blow a gasket. He shoved the extra pillow into his face, because he wanted to groan. Cas as a girl? His very recent self-revelation was making his mind wander a bit too much. He didn’t want to picture Cas as a girl. It was both sexy and wrong. 

“That would be pretty cool to see.” Oh God, Sam _would_ think so. 

“This conversation needs to end. Now.” Dean grumbled into his pillow. 

 


	4. Evil Wet Dream Fairies

They’d finished their enthralling sex talk shortly after that, and Dean decided to get a little shut eye while Cas left to investigate further, and maybe talk to Balthazar. Sam chose to head to the local library to see if he could find out anymore about human/angel bonds or marks. Dean was just happy to catch up on sleep since he didn’t sleep much the night before due to the stupid lice and the itching. 

He was sitting on a couch in what looked like a basement since the windows were all narrow and near the ceiling. It was the type of room that would have once been called a rumpus room, but modern real-estate agents might spin as a media or rec room.  The room was dark with old faux wood paneling on the walls, and a green beer stained carpet on the floor. The couch he sat on was a horrid plaid, and the only other furniture in the room was a cheap coffee table, and an older TV. Though the room and furnishings were beyond their time, it was comfortable and recently clean. 

It was comfortable for dean, who was aware that if he’d lived a normal life in the family’s old house, they may have had such a room. 

Cas sat at the other end of the couch. Between the two men was a box of pizza with a little over half of its contents missing. On the coffee table sat two beers, and three feet beyond that the TV was showing an old western. He knew the angel probably didn’t care for the show, but he was still here with Dean. 

“Cas, you know you are awesome, right?”

“Thank you Dean. Do you know why the women in that restaurant are wearing such binding and yet revealing garments? They do not look comfortable.”

“Saloon, Cas. They are pros. Remember when we went out to the—“

“The brothel, yes I recall. I see.”

Dean snickered. “You’re awesome, Cas.” He must have already been drunk.

“So you have said.” Castiel’s eyes were on the screen, most likely puzzling out the human idiocy he saw. 

“When are ya gonna go girl, Cas?”

Castiel looked toward him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said that you’d be willing to try it out.” 

“Hmm, well I am.”

Dean kept an eye on his friend. “Hm…so when will you?”

“Getting a vessel takes a long time Dean. There is much time needed for negotiations and proving oneself to the potential vessel.”

“Yeah but when you gonna do it?”

“I do not have the time currently, and it is unnecessary while I have Jimmy who does not wish to wake. I would have to take a female from his line, and that would devastate him. I am, as you say, doing him a favor.” 

“Ah,” Dean leaned back in his seat, shifting his legs on the coffee table. If he were to be honest with himself, he would have to say he was a bit disappointed. 

“In any case, that isn’t the point Dean.” The hunter turned to look at his friend and found the angel’s face mere inches from his own. What happened to the pizza box?

“Uh…yeah? What’s the point?” Was Cas sitting on the pizza box? 

Castiel’s face screwed into an expression of annoyance. “The point, Dean, is that I am not male or female and you need to come to understand that remains, regardless of the vessel I inhabit. You should have the same reactions to me no matter the sex of my vessel.”

Dean felt as if his lips were numb and very nearly out of his control. They barely wanted to move with his next words. “But, Cas, it _does_ make a difference—”

“And what bothers you most is that it already makes no difference when it comes to _me_.” Cas’s face held the most unbelievable smirk—unbelievable because the angel never smirked. 

The human wasn’t sure he fully comprehended what his angel was saying. He _was_ drunk, after all. “Come again?”

Impossibly, the blue eyes were even closer to his green orbs. The large mouth in his vision opened slowly and a soft-looking tongue slipped across the lower lip. The motion was probably deliberate, but it freakin’ looked natural as hell. Dean felt his pants tighten all of a sudden. No one had a hotter looking mouth than Cas. The urge to corrupt it was extreme. Then, Cas leaned in just slightly and he felt the angel’s hot breath graze across his mouth, chin, and neck. The neck—he arched slightly as his dick all-out _throbbed_. 

“Tell me again how much the sex of my vessel matters to you.”

Dean could only gulp, unsure of his ability to form words at that time. 

“As I thought.” 

Dean woke up with a start, having thrown his body into the air. He looked around from his sitting position on the bed, and found the room dim. He glanced out the windows and saw the fading light of day. Awesome, he’d slept through the rest of the day. He was still alone in the room, however, so it couldn’t have been too long. 

The hunter froze in place suddenly as the memory of his dream returned to him. He felt the sweats he was wearing strain from a familiar pressure in his groin. _Good God,_ Dean thought as he looked down at the very real tent in his pants. _I have morning wood for Cas._ It didn’t really matter to him that it was in fact after 5pm. It was legit morning wood for arguably his best friend…who was a _dude._

_“Tell me again how much the sex of my vessel matters to you.”_

Dean decided he needed a drink. 

 

 

After he spent some time fingering through his hanging clothes for an outfit that wasn’t worse than damp, Dean dressed quickly and headed down the street to a local bar and grill. Once there, he ordered a bacon cheeseburger (one of the best he’d had in years; he would make sure to remember the place), pickle fries, and a beer. After he’d finished all but his beer, he decided to hustle some pool. After he successfully hustled three large guys, he decided it would be best if he left the fine establishment and move on to another, since he didn’t care to head back to the hotel. At some point in his escape route to the new bar a few blocks away, Sam called. 

“You out?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’m headed back to the room. You planning to be out long?”

“It is possible.” 

There was a slight pause in the conversation, then Sam continued. 

“Any reason I should _not_ stayin the room tonight?”

The thought had crossed Dean’s mind. Normally he would deal with questions about his emotional state by hooking up with a stranger. But so far, nothing had been looking good to him. There were a few busty ladies at the last bar—nothing. He even considered just _looking_ at some of the guys to see if he had any reaction what-so-ever. Again, nothing. He just wasn’t feeling it tonight.

He cleared his throat. “Naw, I think I’ll just have a few and walk back.”

“Alright. If I’m asleep when you come back, night.”

“Yeah, night.”

He stood on the street corner as he put away his phone and thought of Cas. He thought about that weird-ass dream, and about how normally he’d be calling Cas right about now to hang out. Dean didn’t like that he felt he shouldn’t be hanging out with him because he had a wet dream about the guy. If he stopped hanging out with Cas over a wet dream, then didn’t that mean the evil wet dream fairies won? Yeah. 

He closed his eyes and balled up his fists. “Okay Cas if you aren’t busy, let’s get a few drinks.”

In less than five seconds, Dean heard the flapping of wings. 

 


	5. Sex Is Emotion In Motion

Dean was half gone, and he was willing to admit that. He wasn’t sure how many beers he’d had at this point. Since they were on tap, he hadn’t been able to keep count of the waste. No pyramids either—a cryin’ shame that was.

Of course Castiel was completely sober. The angel had opted to simply nurse one beer for the evening, rather than cause Dean to pay a ridiculous sum for only a “light buzz.” He would not have gotten the drink, except that his friend had insisted he get “ _something_ , or else people will think you’re my sponsor. The worst sponsor _ever._ ” Dean had laughed at that, but Cas didn’t get it.

“Anything here ya like, my fine feathered friend?”

Castiel’s attention returned from his beer to the man across the table. He’d been contemplating finishing the drink. He wasn’t a huge fan of beer to begin with, but now his was “piss warm,” and it was very unappealing. Although he was pretty sure that if he finished it Dean would insist on buying him a second, something he really didn’t want. He decided to let the mug sit.

“Could you elaborate please?”

Dean waved his hand around the modest bar crowd. “Want anything you see?”

The angel squinted at his human. “You are referring to physical attraction.”

“Bingo.” The man began to chuckle at his sarcastic remark.

To please his human, the angel looked around the space, then turned back. “I see no strangers I am attracted to.” His eyes lowered as he chose his words carefully.

“Hmmm.” Dean sipped at his current drink. “Me either. Do you know I haven’t had sex since I broke it off with Lisa?”

Cas could’ve mentioned that he did know that, but decided not to tell the absolute truth. “I am not surprised.”

The half drunk man across from him pouted, and Castiel had to look away for the moment. The human’s lips looked a little swollen. As if they needed to hold _more_ color.

“Explain.” Dean nearly barked at Cas.

The dark-haired man sighed and folded his hands in his lap. “You loved her, Dean. And it was not truly your choice to end the relationship. You did it out of necessity. It is not surprising that you would have become used to the act of sex as an extension of your emotions. It is also not surprising that you are not yet prepared to share that act with another—especially a stranger with whom you are not emotionally intimate.”

Dean stared at Cas with his green eyes nearly boring into the other male. It was quite the role-reversal. “Hmm…so I’m a chick?”

Castiel rolled his eyes—a very human act he had also learned from the Winchesters. “No, Dean. I am saying you have a soul.”

“Good to hear.” He took a swig of his beer, then cupped the mug in his hands thoughtfully. After a minute he asked, “What about you and Meg?”

“Meg? You are referring to when I kissed her?”

“Practically made-out with her,” Dean supplied.

The angel sighed and let his gaze trail off to the bartender, and those who sat with him. “I wanted to understand how it felt. And she was not un-stimulating to me on a superficial level.”

The green-eyed man held back a giggle. “Superficial, huh? Like a one night stand?”

“I suppose something similar.” Castiel sighed again, but turned his gaze back to meet Dean’s. “I doubt it would go anywhere. We do not share a profound bond, let alone many common morals or interests.”

“Yeah…demons and angels probably don’t have much in common.” He smirked at his friend and began to take another drink when he stopped with the mug inches from his lips. He stared at his angel, then lowered the mug back to the table.

His eyes held Castiel’s intently. “Profound bond?”

The angel swallowed and nodded.

Dean fingered the mug slightly to the side, so that there was a clearer path to meet his friend’s face. “You say that we have a profound bond, Cas.”

“We do.”

The next words tumbled out before Dean could stop them. Later, he would blame it on the beer. “Does that mean you would want to have sex with me?”

The man across from him seemed to freeze in place. It looked as though Cas had even stopped breathing, which was entirely possible given his holy abilities. Slowly, the shorter man blinked and started to regain his mobility.

“If you wish for an honest answer, then yes. I would.”

Once again the dream from before mentally bitch-slapped Dean, and he felt his pants tighten at the same time he felt his nerves rig up the butterflies in his guts. He closed his eyes to let some deep breathing help him out a bit. And then he though; _what the hell? I’m drunk._

He opened his eyes and blurted; “Cas, you want to have sex tonight?”

The blue eyes across from him didn’t even blink, though Dean could feel the rise and fall of his own chest with extreme awareness. For several minutes the blue eyes stared into him as if they were staring into his soul. This was of course normal for Cas, but Dean felt like it was so much more _invasive_ than it had been in previous encounters.

After Dean was about ready to burst, his angel spoke. “No.”

Dean blinked. “No?”

“Not at this time, no.” The man responded as if he were declining a telemarketer’s pitch.

The hunter could only stare at his friend, his mouth agape. He was used to just trying new stuff when he felt like it. He wasn’t joking when he said he was really well fed. “Uh…why?”

Castiel blinked very slowly and seemed to analyze whether Dean was up to the task of understanding his next statement. It must have ended affirmatively, because he opened his mouth to explain.

“I do not care to simply have sex with you, Dean. I would prefer to try what your people call ‘making love.’ I, like you, do not simply want sexuality without emotional intimacy.”

The man nodded as if he understood—and he did…kind of. “So you want me to _love_ you if we do that.”

“That would be preferable, yes.”

“Huh…” He thought. Something told him that he might have missed something crucial about this conversation.

The next bit of information from Castiel came with a wince, and a look Dean had rarely seen on his friend. It was a look that was as close as his angel got to hate.

“At any rate, I cannot touch you in such a manner as long as another angel’s mark is upon you.” The nimble fingers began to clench and unclench around a paper napkin.

“What would happen?”

Cas shook his head, the dark hair bobbing. It needed a cut. “I am unsure, though I understand it is painful. For me, not you.”

“Oh.” Well, that wasn’t very fair. Dean was starting to see why Cas was so pissed at this mystery angel on a personal level.

After a moment, Castiel gulped the rest of his drink with a wince. “Come, you need to get back to your room, and I should try again to contact Balthazar.”

Dean simply nodded and barely had time to finish is beer before two fingers were upon his head.


	6. The Morning After

When he woke up the next morning, that crucial bit of the conversation that had alluded him the night before was clear. Cas was in love with him.

 Dean lay in bed on his back, staring at the crappy hotel ceiling. His right hand rested on his heart, though he didn’t notice the location at all. He felt the warmth of the new day move the half inch it needed to touch his left foot. It was late. Sam had apparently gotten an early start, and left his brother—who’d been up half the night—sleeping soundly in bed. Sam was a good brother—no way in hell Dean would do the same for him.

He felt his hand clench around the cloth over his left pectoral as a release of tension. Overnight, it felt as though his life had changed. He was used to that feeling—kind of. He just wasn’t used to it being based in his emotions. There was also the fact that his best friend loving him was not by most people’s definitions a “bad” thing. No, Cas would back down if Dean asked. Hell, he’d probably still be his go-to hang-out buddy forever. It wasn’t one of those sucky situations where Dean had to choose all or none. A romantic relationship with Cas, or none at all. He highly doubted the angel would make him choose that.

Castiel _loved_ him. And based on what he got from the angel last night, Cas wouldn’t want a relationship like that with Dean unless Dean felt the same. So what did that leave him with?

Dean dragged his hand back across his chest, feeling a light weight in the center like he often did when he thought on Lisa and Ben. He stretched his arms up over his head, cracked his back, then leapt up and headed to the bathroom. He kicked off his clothes once he had the door shut behind him.

In the shower, Dean prepared for any other day. But, his thoughts were on Castiel.

While brushing his teeth, a thought occurred to him. Would Cas be _hurt_ if Dean didn’t feel the same? He didn’t want Cas hurt.

If he were willing to admit it, he did in fact love the angel. He loved Cas, like he loved Sam, Bobby, Lisa, and Ben. He loved his parents too. He probably loved Cassie back in the day as well. Ellen and Jo were never heavily in his life, but he certainly cared deeply for them.

Would that be enough for the angel? Just sharing a profound bond with him without anything else? Dean hung up his towel to dry, then walked out into the room for his clothes. He thought he would hit up the Laundromat later today. He fisted a dark green tee, decided it was clean smelling, then pulled it over his head. He proceeded to look for a decent pair of shorts, socks, and pants.

Sure Cas would be there for him when he needed it, even if they didn’t get all cuddly. But, would he just be faking it? Would his friend be in pain over it? The angel’s reaction to the mark told Dean that he would probably be in pain. But, he was just one human in a virtually endless lifespan. Cas couldn’t get _that_ attached. Could he?

Once dressed, Dean pocketed his phones and pulled on his coat. He fingered the mark on the back of his head. Well, where he remembered it. He couldn’t feel the thing.

There was a lot more they needed to deal with than just his _Dawson’s Creek_ teen drama. He’d deal with the relationship issues after they’d tracked down this angel with wandering hands.

 

 

“Surely you aren’t serious.”

Castiel glared at the man in the low-cut shirt and decided to use another Winchester-learned phrase. “Do I _look_ like I am joking?”

Balthazar seemed to bite his lip. Castiel wasn’t sure if his brother was contemplating the situation or trying not to laugh.

“No, I don’t think you are.” He crossed his hands over his chest and cocked an eyebrow at the other angel. “Spending time with these humans has made you more fun, Castiel.”

He let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “So you will help me?”

“I’m not finished.” His brother held up a finger. “They are also leading you down stupid paths.”

Cas looked down and nodded. “I am aware.”

Balthazar simply scoffed. “Why not just let it go, hm? Let whatever angel has a thing for your Dean have it and move on. I mean, has he caused any trouble?”

“Not yet, but—”

“So just let it go. No reason to get yourself smote over a silly little thing like a mating mark.” The blonde waved him off and began to turn away.

“It isn’t a mating—It isn’t that simple Balthazar.” Castiel felt the breath escape Jimmy’s body roughly, and his voice came out more raspy than usual. He knew he sounded desperate when his brother turned back to him.

The taller man looked on the other angel with wide eyes. Castiel wondered if he was shocked at his display of human emotion. “It’s because the angel beat you to it, isn’t it? It is because it is your pet Dean—”

“Dean is my friend, not my pet.”

Balthazar’s eyebrows rose. “And I dare say the human you have a crush on.”

Castiel didn’t know how to respond.

“God, you have it bad don’t you?”

The blue-eyed angel looked down to his shoes, then back up to meet his brother’s face. “I am asking you as a friend. Please help me with this.”

Balthazar held up his hands. “I suppose if I don’t, you will just do the foolish thing and look for this angel without backup, right? Fine. I’ll help. Just let me know when you need me.”

Castiel lowered his head respectfully. “Thank you, my brother.”

“Shut up and get back to your boy-toy, Cassie.”

 

 

Castiel found Dean in a wooden chair, reading a magazine while waiting for his clothes to dry.

“Dean, what is a ‘boy-toy’?”

The hunter nearly jumped out of his skin at the question asked from behind him. He hadn’t even heard Cas appear _God damn it._ He coughed and laid his reading flat on the table, then turned in his chair to eyeball the angel who regularly did this to him.

“What?” He croaked out.

“A ‘boy-toy.’ What is it?”

Dean’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Where did you hear that term, Cas?’

The angel selected a free chair close by and pulled it up so that he was sitting across from his human. “Balthazar.”

“Of course.”Dean crossed one leg over the other so that his ankle rested on his other knee, and he leaned back in his seat with his fingers laced behind his head. “It is like a person you play with. You get me?”

There was a blank look from the shorter man.

The hunter sighed. “Sex, Cas. Someone you play with as in you have sex with him. Why did your crazy-ass ‘brother’ bring it up anyway?”

There was a slight pink tint to the angel’s cheeks, but other than that his outward façade gave nothing away. “Balthazar called you my boy-toy.”

Dean blinked for a moment, but all he could come back with was “That’s ridiculous! I’m your boy-toy? If anyone’s a boy-toy here, it’s you.”

Sometimes Dean’s mouth took action before his brain caught up. He was frozen, and unable to verbally recover.

“I mean cuz, you know. I’m bigger than you and tougher—” Dean’s voice became small as he realized that in reality he was none of those things when compared to the real Cas.

“Dean?”

“Huh?”He looked up from where his gaze had dropped to his hands.

There was the slightest upturn to the angel’s lips. “You realize of course that I could make you my bitch.”

Dean thought about the time he attempted to punch Cas in the face and nearly broke his hand in the process. Of course Cas didn’t even flinch. Yeah, maybe he had a point.

The hunter cleared his throat. “Well, anyway I’m not your boy-toy. Did you get him to agree to come back to my childhood with us?”

Cas nodded. “I did. He will help us when we need him.”

“And when will that be?”

The angel cleared his throat. “I would like to have a better idea on what point in time we are looking for. I cannot simply jump us backward over and over again.”

“Too much angel juice?”

“Something like that.” Castiel stood up and walked over to a front load dryer that had caught his eye. He seemed to be watching a red shirt as it rotated around and around. “I would also prefer not to disturb more points in time than necessary.”

“Ah.” Dean felt a little odd sitting in a Laundromat and discussing angelic-powered time travel like it was nothing. He drummed his thumb and middle finger on the table in front of him. Castiel simply watched the clothes as they were gently fluffed into a warm dryness.

“How do we narrow it down?”

Cas answered without taking his eyes off the dryer. “We can ask those who knew you as a young child, research any journals from them. However, our biggest lead is you Dean. We could learn much from your memories.”

“And you can help with that.”

“I can, though it may take a few days.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, then I guess I can send Sam to Bobby’s for research, and you and I could get a little R and R while we work on my brain. It would be like when we cornered Rafael. We’ll even go out and get in some quality drinking.”

There was a small smile from Cas. “That would be enjoyable.”

 


	7. Sunrise

Sam decided it was totally unfair that he had to go to Bobby’s for work when Dean would be at the beach with his best buddy for the weekend. Completely and perversely unfair.

Dean even made sure to let Sam see him stocking up on beer and chips before Castiel beamed him to Bobby’s front door. So not fair.

 

 

Dean had always wanted to go to the Outterbanks. There was something primal about east coast beaches that simply wasn’t there with the west coast—probably had a lot to do with watching the sunrise. And where they were staying, the strip of land was less than a mile wide. They were surrounded by ocean on one side, and the sound on the other. Dean could watch the sunrise over the waves, then turn his chair around and watch it dip below the horizon, burning hot into the calm waters of the bay.

It was also so un-commercialized, it may as well have been heaven. They were staying in a small two-bedroom beach house right along the wildlife reserve, with no other humans in sight. The main road was rarely traveled this time of year, and the only thing beyond the reserve was a small town with a dock to travel to a small island called Ocracoke. Black Beard central.

They’d also found an awesome little pizza place that was popular with the locals called “Lisa’s” and the name _didn’t_ make him want to crawl under a rock and die. All in all it was perfect for the oldest Winchester son.

It was so perfect they didn’t get any memory searching done for the first day. Instead, they pulled in just before sunrise (Dean insisted on driving in for the experience) and watched the pinks and oranges of the coming day from their new porch. The salty sea air seemed to lift Cas’s spirits and his devotion to the sunrise could only be described as meditative.

“Dean, can you hear it?”

“What?”

“The singing. Humans do not hear singing in the sunrise?”

“No, dude. It’s just really pretty.”

“But you wanted to watch it?”

“I…” Dean hesitated for a lack of words. “There’s nothing like watching the sun come up over the ocean. It must be as close as I can get to seeing what you saw at the beginning of creation,” then he quickly added “I guess.”

Castiel closed his eyes and Dean heard the sound of feathers ruffling in the wind. “That humans can feel so connected with my father through the sunrise without hearing his song is amazing. We as angels have proof to believe but often choose not to. And yet, even the most faithless of you hold a special connection with the sunrise. You are truly a people of boundless imagination and passion, much closer to my father than I will ever come.”

And for a moment, Dean was a believer.

 


	8. Obligatory Beach Episode--Err...Chapter

After, Dean stripped naked and ran right into the chilly waters. He toyed with the surf for a few minutes before passing the breaking point and floating in the moderately quiet waters. He lay there for a time with his eyes closed, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in months. The scratches in his scalp burned slightly from the salt water, but it was a good feeling anchoring him to reality.

Castiel stood on the beach, also truly happy and relaxed for the first time in months. He was neglecting his duties to the war in heaven, but there was little he could do at this time. A temporary stalemate had been drawn once both he and Raphael realized they were getting nowhere with equally matched armies. The angel looked out at his human floating on the water. Perhaps he needed this reaffirmation as to why he was fighting his brothers and sisters for the survival of the human race. Watching the one human who meant the world to him and showed him the awesome complexities of man would give him greater resolve.

It was then that Dean righted himself in the water and called out to the angel.

“Yes?” The dark-haired man answered across sand and ocean spray.

“Cas come on! Lose the coat and get your skinny ass in here!”

Castiel looked down at Dean’s clothing pile, debating whether to strip as he did or simply disappear his clothes for the time being. He decided that _skinny dipping_ was an innately _human_ thing to do, so he shrugged off his coat as a human would.

He heard clapping from the man in the water and a distinct musical sound of _ba-dada-dum ba-dada-dum_. He had the sneaking suspicion that Dean was making reference to paid strippers for men’s enjoyment. Cas stopped taking off his clothes the moment he realized the connection and stood with his dress shirt half unbuttoned and his bare feet in the sand.

“Oh get over it Ginger, and show us the goods!” Dean laughed maniacally as he dove under the water.  

Castiel shrugged and continued to remove his clothes. When he was naked as the day [Jimmy] was born, he trudged out to the waterline. He wiggled his toes in the sand for the first time before he stepped into the darker, cooler sand. When the water lapped up to meet his feet, he jumped back in slight shock at how cold it was. Dean was swimming in that? Could that hurt him?

Dean didn’t appear to be lethargic, so the angel figured the human body could take it. He took another step into the waves and then another. When he was about hip-deep, which was relative since the waves often changed the height of the water, Castiel suddenly found himself underwater and stuck to the sandy ocean floor. He felt an instinctual panic rising in his chest which he could only attribute to Jimmy’s memories of being caught in an undertow as a child. Then, a rough hand found one of his and hauled him into the air.

Castiel found himself sputtering for an instant before he cleared his throat of water with his powers. He thought briefly on what it would be like to be a human drowning and winced at the prospect.

His hand was still in Dean’s as his friend patted him on the shoulder. “You okay?” Castiel nodded, but gripped the bigger man’s hand all the same. He blamed it on Jimmy’s body reacting to his fear of ocean current.

“Cas, you need to get past the breaking point.” Dean’s face was suddenly all he could see. “Once you do that, the water is calm and you can float without being thrown under. Got me?”

“I got you.” Castiel found himself nodding again.

Dean nodded and began to pull the angel deeper into the water. “Okay, just stick with me and I’ll get you there.”

Cas watched the waters ripple over there conjoined hands, making their skin seem pale and moon-like.

“Heads up!”

The angel looked up as a large wave was about to crash onto the pair. “Dive _into_ it, Cas. You’ll cut through it.”

He watched as Dean did just what he said, diving into the dark portion of the wave before the white foaming curl could catch him. Cas felt a yank on his arm and barely had time to follow Dean’s example before he was being lifted by the wave. For an instant he worried that he’d been too late and would find himself on the ocean floor again, but then he broke through the surface on the other side of the wave, still standing.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder laughing. “Excellent Cas!” Water dripped from his short bangs and onto his face. The early morning light flickered along the lines of his jaw and cheeks. His eyes looked bright and carefree as the corners crinkled into his expression. Castiel felt for a moment that there was something more beautiful than the sunrise.

“Okay, we got one more before we’re clear. Ready?”

The angel nodded and thought how he could simply “poof” them where they needed to be, but dropped that thought when he remembered he would have never seen Dean’s face like this if hadn’t made the effort to swim. Maybe there was something to this human experience through travel thing Dean loved.

The wave was upon them in no time. This time, when Dean dove through it, he let go of Cas’s hand to give him more freedom to move. Castiel felt Jimmy’s body cringe at the loss of connection with the clearly stronger swimmer in front of him, but he bit it back and dove unto the dark of the wave. For a soft moment there was nothing but cool water around him, pouring into his eyes, ears, and mouth. It was filling him to his very grace. Then he broke the surface and sudden warmth from the sun covered him, leeching even past the coat of moisture on his skin.

They were in the calm water Dean had spoke of, the waves beginning to curl just beyond them, and the vast open ocean in front of them. Castiel felt a rush surge through him at the accomplishment and he let out a joyful but gravelly laugh. Dean returned to him with a large grin on his face. When no waves came, they could touch the floor with the water at their shoulders and necks. When a wave came, it lifted them a couple feet up, and then gently set them back down. They were caught between two gentle currents which kept them safely in place.

“Well, pretty nice hm?”

The angel felt the corners of his mouth pull as he smiled. “Very nice indeed. It is quite peaceful once one makes his way to this point.”

The pair spent the next half hour alternating between youthful play, which Dean dubbed “splash war,” and relaxing their bodies by floating on the gently rocking waves. Once the sun began to burn brighter in the sky, Dean decided he was “starving” and insisted on finding a shrimp or pizza place. Dean loved the food, but swore that dinner would be seafood.

The afternoon was spent “crabbing” at the sound. This consisted of the two grown men tying bits of hot dogs to string and dragging them slowly along the rippled sand floor, watching for crabs to chase the meat. Castiel suspected they were supposed to catch the crabs after they saw them, but the two were very ill equipped for catching and carrying more than one or two. He also suspected that true crabbing consisted of large metal cage traps, but he wasn’t one to argue with a laughing hunter who was massaging his recently pinched toe. The crabs were also fascinating to watch as they chased the trailing hot dog pieces.

Dinner took place at a small beach shack called “The Salty Dawg,” where the condiments, napkins, and utensils could be found in a bucket on the table. Everything on the menu was fried, but Dean ordered them both a basket of breaded shrimp with fries and Dr. Peppers and even Castiel had to agree with Dean when he said it was “awesome.”  He particularly liked their cocktail sauce and found himself licking the excess from his fingers.

The evening was spent once again on the shore, but without getting wet. Dean taught Cas how to build a sand castle, insisting it was something all people do at least _once_ in their lives.

“You’ve lived millions of years and haven’t built a sand castle. That is _wrong_.”

From Dean’s expertise, Castiel had to assume he’d played in the sand more than once in his life. The hunter just kicked sand at the angel and continued to mount a flag to the highest tower.

Finally, they sat in the “front” porch of the beach house to watch the sunset over the sound side of the island. The reds and purples were the most brilliant either had seen in nature, and Castiel wondered why his brothers never paid attention to the songs within the sunsets. They were a lower tone and somewhat mournful, but just as lovely as any to come from a sunrise.

Castiel followed along with his friend throughout the day, not bothering to push him to get to business. He hadn’t seen Dean this carefree since in a very long time, and he didn’t want to spoil that for his human. And if he were being honest with himself, Cas would have to admit that he had never had so much fun in his life.

When it was finally too dark to say they were watching a sunset, the two gathered their bags (Dean’s bags) from the car and set up in the small brown house. There were four rooms. The first was the main living, dining, and kitchen all in one large room. At the back of the house were two identical bedrooms with the house’s single bathroom between. The bath was large with three entrances. One off each bedroom, and one off the main living room. The bedrooms were small, barely enough room for a double bed, two end tables, and a small dresser with mirror in each. However, each room had floor to ceiling tinted windows looking out onto the ocean, with double doors to access the common wraparound porch. Dean chose a bedroom at random, which meant that Castiel had the other by default. He doubted he would be using his at all.

Once situated in their new “home,” Dean cracked open a beer as he flopped down on a pink sofa in front of an older TV. Castiel chose to sit in a wicker rocker to his friend’s right. They spent the next couple of hours watching _South Park_ reruns. Oddly enough, Castiel found that he enjoyed the show. Especially the episodes which made fun of various religions.

Soon, Dean grew tired and headed to bed. Castiel was left in his chair to stare at the blank television screen. He contemplated turning it back on, but there was little on he was interest in. Instead he allowed himself to fall into a contemplative meditation to ready himself for the next day’s business. He would need focus and a reserve of power to fish through Dean’s memories. He would need even more when he would make the jump through time.

Outside, a tall figure watched the sleepy house from just beyond the surf in that quiet calm water Dean so loved.

 


	9. Heaven Hath Hamburgers, Sam Winchester

In Sioux Falls, Sam discovered that Bobby made some mean hamburgers. The man used Italian herbs with Asian sauces with very lean ground beef, which was something Sam could appreciate. It was a mix that should not have worked, but did when Bobby Singer touched it. Apparently he’d had Bobby’s burgers before, but just didn’t remember since he was probably around six at the time. Bobby assured him that he liked them then as well.

They ate the burgers between readings. It was a quiet first couple of days. Two grown men reading, making occasional notes, eating with minimal but meaningful conversation, and sleeping. Sam found himself enjoying his surrogate father’s company immensely. Bobby was rough around the edges like Dean, but a total book geek and absolute genius in his own right. The younger Winchester found he had a _lot_ in common with Bobby. This made him think about all the fights he and his dad got into, and all the fights Bobby and his dad got into. Things began to make sense. He vaguely wondered if in some ways his mother had been a bit like Bobby singer, and maybe that is where he got it. Or maybe Bobby was more of an influence than he previously thought and Sam just took after him.

After about twenty-three burgers and a countless number of books, the two hunters had squat. Sam sat back, rubbing his eyes as Bobby went to the fridge for a couple of beers. The two opened them and guzzled, enjoying the cold bite slowly calming their senses.

“Well,” Bobby began once he’d started in on his second beer. “No use burning out in the first inning. What’s say we rent a movie and cool it for the rest of the evening?”

“Sounds good to me.” Sam’s voice was dry and raspy from spending it on mute much of the day. It reminded him of when he would study all day before finals. His eyes were strained and his voice was rusty.

They rented _Up_ and Bobby did _not_ cry after the prologue.

 

 

“But we can do it after brunch, right?”

Castiel sighed heavily as he watched Dean munch down his egg, cheese, and hot sauce breakfast sandwich in the morning sun. It was already later than he wished for Dean to start the day, but his human seemed to be drawing it out evermore.

Dean pressed his toes into the sand and leaned back into his folding hammock chair. The surf was strong this morning, probably from the early morning storm that woke him momentarily. The water was an iron gray, and in the distance the overhead clouds grew into darkening bodies the farther out to see they went. It was still amazing. The best part: it was past 10:30 and there was barely anyone else on the beach. There was a man with a dog walking north to a pier, a woman who was probably a local running in the sand, and a fisherman just cleaning up his tackle box for the day.

Cas sat in the nearby chair which matched Dean’s, but the angel wasn’t eating a thing. Instead he looked more like he wanted to just get on with the job. Dean had to admit that he was milking his vacation, and Castiel had been super reasonable about it for a whole day, but he just wanted a few more hours here in the peace.

At least he’d convinced the angel to wear a pair of jeans and a casual button-down shirt.

Dean didn’t realize he closed his eyes until he noticed something blocking the direct sunlight to his eyelids. He cracked them open and looked up at the silhouetted figure standing in front of him. The figure was male for sure, and tall as fuck. Probably around Sam’s height. Dean raised an eyebrow. Maybe more. On top of his head was a mop of hair which looked outlined in a red hue, but Dean couldn’t be sure of the color while the man was in such dark contrast to the morning sun.

Dean glanced to his left to where Cas was sitting only to find an empty chair. The angel must have decided to give Dean a moment alone before this stranger decided to stand in his sun.

He lifted a hand slowly to shield his eyes from the sun and tried to make sense of the man in front of him. The effort did nothing.

“Can I help you?” He croaked out.

The person in front of him cocked his head to the side, then slid a hand into his jeans’ pocket to rest. “Sorry to bother you. Are you Dean Winchester?”

Dean was a little taken aback, but he quickly figured it must have been another hunter or a friend of someone he knew. Still, he played it cool and didn’t reveal anything too fast.

“Depends on your opinion of him,” he cracked one of his award-winning smiles.

The man before him let out a gruff but good natured laugh. “No real opinion yet, but I have heard some interesting stories. Bet most are true. Is that hot sauce with that egg and cheese sandwich?”

He looked down to his hand where the last few bites of his breakfast remained. He quickly (and happily) got rid of the rest of it, then wiped his hands on his pants. “Yeah it was. What can I do for you?”

The man still covered in a black shadow adjusted his belt, then coughed. “Well, I’m here on business. Guy named Sean MacLean gave me a tip that I might find work here. He claims to know you.”

Dean nodded. He did know Sean. Quiet and resourceful, Sean was one of the few hunters who knew about Sam’s involvement with starting the apocalypse and didn’t spread it around or seem to have strong opinions on it. Dean just figured Sean had seen enough to know that people made mistakes, and he wasn’t in any position to judge the mistakes others made. That made him very alright in Dean’s book.

He knew little about the hunter’s past (hell, Dean said Sean was quiet for a reason), but he knew he got into the game because of an attack on his family—like so many others.

Dean nodded to the empty seat beside him and the other man took the hint and sat. As he moved into visible light, Dean finally got the chance to see who he was talking with. The man was tall with thick red hair in a shaggy cut that probably came from a lack of upkeep rather than a style preference. He had anfirm jaw with lines angled up towards his ears and pronounced chin covered in a few days worth of what Dean’s mom used to call “Celtic stubble.” The man’s eyebrows were equally as thick and red as his hair, and they seemed expressive as he looked Dean over in turn. The mouth was a thin, wide line below a crooked nose. The eyes were hazel Dean guessed, though he wasn’t really close enough to tell, and below them was a smattering of redness from fading sunburn. Covering every bit of skin that Dean could see, were fine freckles. Nothing heavy, but still clearly there. He was built with a tall wiry strength it seemed, without a lot of padding from heavy muscle. Regardless, Dean could see the swell of the man’s lower body, particularly the legs. He looked like a soccer player, which made the hunter wonder just how much running the guy did.

After the two had looked each other over as if they were appraising a new tool of the trade and figuring how it might work, the redhead offered his hand to Dean and said “Patrick Moore. Nice to finally meet the man who said ‘no’ to an archangel.” The man grinned wide.

Dean took the hand and shook it with a small crooked smile. “Yeah, well…” normally he’d have a better response, but the loss of Adam still weighed on him a good bit. Never mind that he basically left him in the box so he could get Sam back.

The man, Patrick, seemed to sense that it wasn’t the best subject for an icebreaker and thankfully moved on for Dean’s sake. “So the story is that we have a banshee around the wild-life reserve.” The redhead seemed to present a cocky grin to egg Dean on.

Dean looked around to see if he could pinpoint where Cas had gone. He spotted him in the kitchen window of their beach house just above where he and his new companion sat. The angel seemed to be making subtle wards, probably in preparation for what they would be doing later.

The hunter turned back to Patrick with a grin. “I seem to have a few minutes.”

 

 

Castiel waited for Dean for two hours before he decided to turn on the television. He wanted to call Dean again, but he’d already left a voice message and a text message. Clearly, Dean was out of service. At least Castiel hoped so.

He pondered if this was the result of essentially laying out his feelings for Dean the other night while the man was drunk. Did Dean recently recall that conversation while he was inebriated, and was he now “freaking out”? The angel suspected that Dean might do such a thing were he to remember.

So it was, Cas made the decision _not_ to go looking for Dean unless he had not returned by nightfall. In the meantime, he chose to watch various channels.


	10. Two Hunters Walk Into A...

The hunt was the shortest Dean had ever been on. It took them less than a half hour once they got to the reserve to find the banshee’s anchoring point. Dean fought her off while Patrick made quick work of her bones. It was a brutal fight. The banshee left nothing behind, and Dean was amazed he hadn’t sustained serious injury. It seemed though, that every time he felt searing pain from a blow, it quickly ebbed back to a dull throb and he was able to continue his fight. He was lucky.

After, they took a long walk back to beach. Dean was enjoying the buzzing from the amazingly thick brush, and the utter lack of responsibility and worry over angel crushes. Sure yesterday had been amazing with Cas, but now that they were actually going to start working on his predicament, it would be opening up that shit storm again. And Dean just wanted a little more time.

Patrick walked behind Dean, allowing him to lead their way through the thicket. Dean liked the man instantly. He’d been easy to talk to or simply walk with. Plus, it was clear the man was not a rookie. He was probably a bit younger than Dean, but the older hunter had no doubt that Patrick knew his way around the job. He seemed like the best of both Dean and Sam; he’d practically pinpointed the banshee’s resting place through his awesome research skills, then pulled a miracle out of his ass when his lighter refused to work. Dean had left his at the beach house, but somehow the man improvised and in the end, the bitch was BBQed.

Patrick also seemed like the type of guy you could sit down with and have pizza and beer, and who didn’t like that about a dude?

He turned to glance over his shoulder at the tall man behind him, and the man returned the gaze with a half smile. “Doin’ okay back there?” Dean asked for a lack of explanation for his rubber necking.

“Doing well, Dean.” Red hair bobbed as the man nodded.

“Mind if I call you Pat?”

“Oh please God no.” The redhead laughed with a shake of his head. “Patrick only please.”

The shorter man laughed at his new companion’s reaction. “Fair enough.”

Dean caught the motion of the man’s hips swaying, and he pulled his eyes back to the path ahead.

“So you know about the angels?” He felt like he needed to fill the void.

A stick cracked somewhere behind him and he refused to look back unless Patrick yelled for his help. “Yeah…met one of them actually.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

There was a short pause, but Dean could hear the hesitation in the air. “Uh…Uriel and Gabriel.”

Dean shook his head. “On the same day?”

“Actually, yes.”

“You must have thought you were manic.”

“I have been told that was like seeing two extremes of their race.” He puttered for a moment with a low hanging branch before continuing. “Gabriel actually wasn’t too bad.”

Dean walked on for a moment before he quietly agreed “not too bad at all.”

The angel had died trying to save humanity in the end.

“Uriel was a dick with wings.”

Dean had to stop mid-stride to grab his knees in laughter, doubled over. After a second, he wiped away a rogue tear and looked back at the redhead. “Yeah…you know, I said the same thing about him. Well, the good news is that the ass is dead at least.”

Patrick stopped beside Dean as best he could in the narrow animal path. His expression was not jovial in the least. “I hadn’t heard,” but his eyes didn’t look the least surprised. Dean wondered if Uriel’s death was predictable because the man was a dick with wings.

The older hunter straightened up. “What did Uriel do to you?”

Patrick shook his head and looked right into Dean, similar to the way Cas did. It was like the other hunter could see or was trying to see his soul. “He did nothing to me personally. But he put someone I cared about in grave danger.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to do with the seriousness of the situation. It was like Patrick’s entire demeanor changed. His shoulders had tensed, his head lowering and projecting forward as if getting ready for a fight. His jaw seemed set and ready for the kill.

He patted Patrick on the shoulder, catching his attention once more. “Beer?”

The taller man seemed to relax completely at the offer. “Beer,” he nodded in confirmation.

 

 

“What about a tag on the soul like that kid Dean said bought the staff of Moses?” Sam was fingering through a recent find; a very old volume that was half charred, but much of it was still legible.

Bobby seemed to shake his head as he held a chewed pencil in his teeth. He flipped the pages of three books, then removed the writing utensil. “I doubt it. Cas said Dean still owned his soul.”

Sam shrugged and pushed the book away to stretch. “Yeah...”

“Hold up,” Bobby sat forward and picked up one of the books he was skimming. “Looky here.”

Sam was handed a fairly new book, even paperback. He scanned the page until he saw what Bobby had underlined in pencil. “Huh…that could be _very_ helpful.”

“Give Cas a place to start at least.”

 

 

“It will date the mark, Cas.”

“The exact date?” Castiel blinked at his luck.

There was a murmur from the other line, and then Sam continued. “Uh unfortunately no. Just the year.”

The angel nodded to no one. “Well, that will at least help to narrow it down a good bit. What do I need?”

“Do you have a pot and a stove top where you are staying?”

“Yes…”

“Okay I have a list of ingredients for you.”

 

 

Patrick and Dean sat on the hood of Patrick’s car nursing their beers they’d picked up from the local convenience store. Once they’d gotten back into cell service, a message from Cas beeped on his phone. He opened the text, but didn’t call his voicemail. He quickly texted back his friend, letting him know he was okay, had gone hunting with a friend of a friend, and that he’d be back to the house after a couple. Cas had simple answered with “I will see you then, Dean.”

They’d been discussing the intricacies of “Stairway to Heaven,” and Patrick always seemed two steps ahead of him. The man knew his classic rock—that was for sure, and seemed to hold very similar opinions with Dean. Initially this made him suspicious, since the last tall cool dude who knew as much about that musical era was a siren. However, Patrick seemed genuine. He seemed like he’d talked with someone about it _a lot_ , sort of how old friends with similar interests will talk about the same stuff multiple times, but he did truly like the music.

“So,” Dean began after a lull in conversation. “Did you talk about this stuff with the person Uriel messed with?”

For a moment, Dean regretted bringing it up since it brought back the hard look to the usually pleasant hunter’s face. Patrick though, seemed okay with indulging him. Maybe he even needed to talk about it.

“It was a while ago, it isn’t really a tender subject. You can ask what you like about him. Yes, we talked about it often. “

“Buddy of yours?”

Patrick glanced at Dean, and the hunter could now see that his eyes were in fact hazel. “He was my partner, Dean.”

The first thing Dean associated with the word “partner” was hunting partner. Like Sam and him. However, the cogs soon rotated enough in his head to click into place and he realized he’d just associated his relationship with his little brother with gay life mates. He repressed the desire to shiver in disgust because Patrick was looking at Dean for a similar reaction to the fact that Patrick was gay. And Dean didn’t give a shit about who was gay or not, as long as it wasn’t his little brother with him.

Again, shudder repressed.

“And he liked classic rock. Sounds like a good guy.” Dean finally spoke when the very _wrong_ mental image left his head. Brain bleach.

Patrick seemed to relax a bit, then took a sip of his drink. “He was.”

“Talking about him in the past tense. Did you two…?”

“He died. Recently, actually.” The tall man rolled his bottle back and forth between his large hands.

Dean _really_ didn’t know what to say to that other than “I’m sorry.”

Patrick nodded absently. “I was actually on my way here before Pat called me to visit him.”

“He’s buried here?”

“His ashes are scattered here, yes. I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

Ah, the two hunted together. Just like him and Sammy.

Dean closed his eyes against the coming headache.

_Just like Cas and me! Just like Cas and me!_ Then he thought about Castiel and him _together_. It wasn’t gross like the thought was with Sam. There was that at least. Though, this new epiphany added a whole new layer of weird.

He’d deal with it later. “Did he die on the job?”

“No, he died in bed asleep. Very sudden, very peaceful. Something he never thought he’d have.” Patrick turned to look at him with eyes that were a bit moist. “You understand.”

Dean did.

 

 


	11. Free To Be

Castiel heard Dean come in through the front door with heavy steps. He stood up from the couch to help the hunter with anything he may have. He’d texted Dean with some of the ingredients and Dean said he would be picking up that and some food on the way back.

He found him just in the doorway, and scooped up the bags from his hands. He was about to cross the room to the counter when he stopped and actually _looked_ at his friend. The man looked worn like he often did after an emotionally difficult hunt. Cas stood opposite of him for a moment as Dean slowly closed the door behind him, then put the groceries down at his feet.

“Dean, are you hurt?” He took a small step forward.

The hunter lifted his eyes to meet Castiel’s gaze, then did something he’d never done before. He took two steps forward and hugged his friend. He wrapped his arms around Cas’s arms, and leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder, with his face out.

Cas simply froze in place. Dean had patted him on the back before, and had once given him a half embrace that seemed typical of male friends of their culture. This was similar though not as exuberant as Cupid’s hug. There was no space between him and the man who held him. Nothing in it was sexual, from what Castiel could discern, but it was familiar and intimate none-the-less. The angel lifted his arms and returned the gesture as he closed his eyes.

The feel of Dean’s torso against his vessel’s was comforting, and the larger arms were reminiscent of how he felt when he was engulfed in the host while in heaven. Warm and protected. The soft but prickly hair on the back of Dean’s neck brushed his cheek as the breathed, and Castiel could feel his grip on the man tighten barely, his fingers beginning to clench the man’s shirt fabric.

Dean let out a heavy sigh, then turned his face inwards so that his breath passed over Castiel’s neck. That’s when everything changed.

All at once, Castiel’s vessel became aroused, his heart felt it had leapt into his throat, his grip on Dean changed from supportive friend to feeling the lines of Dean’s back, and a new pain suddenly spiked.

Cas could feel Dean tense at the obvious change, but the angel let out a tight cry as he dropped to the ground. He backed away from his friend as if he were acid, pedaling backward on his seat.

Dean stared down at him with wide eyes. For an instant, they locked eyes as they simply froze in place, panting. Then Dean bent to offer Cas his hand to help him up. The dark-haired man drew away on instinct. The pain he’d felt leave just as suddenly as it came was from his grace, not that of the body he inhabited.  It had frightened him.

His human pulled back, then stood straight and hooked his hands in his pockets. “Jez, Cas. What happened?”

“I-I, uh,” Castiel’s mouth stalled and he ran his tongue over his lips. “I touched you in desire for a moment and the mark retaliated.”

Dean blinked down at him in shock, then glossed over it to angry. “It punished you for wanting me?”

Castiel nodded.

“With pain.”

“Yes.”

The man set his mouth into a tight line. Determined. It was so very Winchester of him. “We’re reading my memories now.”

The angel on the floor was a bit shocked. He truly didn’t think Dean would be so moved by this situation. “Dean, I thought you did not…”

He simply could not finish. Dean looked down at him for a moment with that hard expression, then forcibly offered his hand to the angel to help him up. Castiel didn’t argue and took his friend’s hand, and the human helped him to his feet roughly. Really, it was all very unnecessary.

“Fuck whether I do or I don’t, no one has any right to dictate who I can be with. Come on Cas, no one has any right to punish _you_ for loving someone.”

They both stopped everything for a minute. Frozen in place, they remained with their hands together and their purpose forgotten. It was safe to say they were both freaking out.

It was Dean who cleared his throat first, then drop his hand from the angel’s grip. “Uh…I didn’t mean to imply that you _love_ me or anything…”

Castiel pulled back his vessel’s hand and let it drop to his side. “Of course not.” He kept his gaze fixed on his human, and Dean held it strong. And Castiel wondered what he had to lose.

“But of course I do.” He said.

Dark green eyes seemed unable to blink. After a moment; “Cas…”

Castiel lowered his head, but not his eyes from Dean. He was aware that the combination was somewhat aggressive and usually his demeanor before he entered into a fight. Perhaps he expected a fight from Dean Winchester.

“It is neither here nor there, Dean. It doesn’t matter unless someday you feel the same. I will always be here, and nothing will change unless you wish it to.”

Dean seemed to take a moment, then nodded. “Okay. That seems…reasonable.”

“Very well. I will put away the groceries. You should void your bladder and bowels if you need, then get a glass of water before we start.”

The hunter nodded slowly, processing the transition from blunt personal conversation to almost clinical instruction. “Okay,” he murmured as he headed to the single bathroom and shut the door behind him.

 

 

“Sam said we needed paprika to do this spell?” Dean and Cas stood over a newly simmering pot of honey on the stove. Dean looked like he was about to salivate.

Castiel pulled the small tray of ingredients—all of which were edible—to the cool side of the stovetop. “Yes…it is a very odd combination, but certainly better than some of the other concoctions you and Sam have had to make in your life.”

“Yeah, well can’t argue that.” Dean sprinkled in the teaspoon of red powder. “Listen…after the spell is done, can we glaze some ham with this and eat it?”

The angel smiled slightly as he tossed in the small handful of thyme. “I do not see why not.”

“Awesome,” Dean chimed. “Best spell ever.”

“Agreed. A pinch of celery seed.” Dean retrieved a small shaker and popped the lid. “After that, we will need the oregano.”

“Are you _sure_ Sam wasn’t just fucking with you?”

“Bobby found this spell. I would trust he would not want to play around with your freedom.”

Dean nodded and threw in the pinch of celery seed.

 


	12. A Little Boy and His Angel

Fair warning: cuteness abounds.

 

 

After the pot was simmering with a lid and all the ingredients added—including vanilla, Dean couldn’t wait to eat this shit—Cas and Dean prepared the space for what the hunter was referring to as “a good brain rape.” They gathered a couple candles (scented because that is all the shop had, and this was downright embarrassing for Dean), made out a basic protection circle on the coffee table in chalk, and poured a circle of salt around the couch where Dean would be laying.

Dean had just enough time to himself during the process to think how wonderful yet strange it was that they went right back to normal even though Cas told him he loved him less than a half hour ago. He knew his friend wouldn’t put any pressure on him.

Dean was laying on the couch fully clothed sans shoes with Castiel sitting on the cushion beside Dean’s hip. The human looked up at the angel soberly, while Cas placed the pot of delicious smelling goodness on the coffee table within the protection circle. The angel leaned back from the table, then turned to face Dean. He pressed two fingers to the human’s forehead, wiping some of the sticky sweet substance on his skin.

“Alright.” Cas sat back to roll up his sleeves, but then remembered he was wearing a tee shirt. He instead scraped his nails over his elbows, then settled his hands in his lap.

“Cas?”

“I am alright Dean. Just…”

“Nervous?” Castiel nodded in answer. “Why?”

The angel sighed roughly. “I do not wish to hurt you Dean.”

The hunter swallowed, then licked his dry lips. “Um, is this gonna be like when you reached inside that kid?”

“Not at all. But if you fight me, it will hurt us both. You more than me. You must let me in.”

Dean nodded quickly. “I trust you, Cas. We’re family.”

Castiel looked down at Dean’s hand. He brushed a couple of fingers over it, then returned his gaze to his friend. “Yes. Now I need you to close your eyes. I will say the chant for the spell; there will be the slightest smell of smoke and roses after. Then I will look into your memories. Remember: do not fight me.”

“I won’t.”

Cas smiled. “You are Dean Winchester. Your instinct will be to fight me for a moment. Just try not to let it continue.”

Dean had nothing to say to this, so he closed his eyes.

The throw pillow supporting his head was scratchy on the back of his neck, and the couch was dipped where Castiel sat beside him. The warmth of the other man passed through the jeans and into his right hip. Dean could hear soft mutterings from the voice above him, low and gravelly. He knew it wasn’t in English, but he was sure he wouldn’t have understood the chant even if it were.

Very quickly the voice stopped and there was a sudden smell of burning and roses. _Faint smell my ass_ , Dean thought. It was overwhelming and nearly made him gag.

Then there was hot air on his face, followed by a soft pressure against his forehead. He knew he was supposed to keep his eyes shut, but he peeked for just a moment anyway. He couldn’t help it. Castiel’s closed eyes were right in front of his. The angel had leaned over and pressed his forehead to Dean’s. It was the angel’s breath which was passing over his lower lip and chin. It wasn’t offensive at all, there was just the slightest smell of some honey that Castiel had tasted at Dean’s insistence.

_“You can’t be on earth and never taste honey.”_

_“Really Dean, this isn’t necessary—”_

_The angel was cut off as Dean shoved a spoonful into his mouth. Castiel looked shocked, spoon stuffed into his lips. Then he pulled the spoon from his mouth, sucking it clean in the process._

_Dean simply looked at Cas until he grudgingly said, “Delightful. Now, let us move on.”_

Dean was startled out of his memory when Castiel spoke inches from his face. “Keep your eyes closed, Dean Winchester.”

He felt like a child who had been caught out of bed past his bedtime, and he slammed his eyelids shut before he realized what he was going.

“Relax please.”

The hunter let out a breath and hoped it didn’t smell rank from the beer earlier. He hoped this worked. He didn’t feel any different. Just that same scratchy pillow…

 

_He was in his bedroom, tucked neatly under the covers with a small bear nightlight plugged into the outlet by the bed. His Teddy was bunched up under his left arm, but he held it with both of his small hands. Occasionally a train passed by, but it was soothing rather than disturbing in the stillness of the night. Mommy and Daddy had tucked him in only a little while ago. He knew this because he could still faintly hear the TV downstairs. This was also not disturbing._

_The closet door though, that was disturbing._

_Dean watched the shadows across the floor for any change in the position of the closet door. He watched so long that he imagined movement where there was none. He did this almost every night before he managed to drift to sleep. It was why he needed his teddy nightlight. Daddy always checked the closest for him, but Daddy wasn’t here now. The thing in his closet could just pop out now. He had no guard._

_Then Dean saw it. He wasn’t sure at first, because after months of expecting to see movement and imagining it, he didn’t really believe he had truly seen it. He lifted his hands from Teddy to rub his eyes. When he opened them again, he knew he wasn’t imagining. The closet door had moved._

_Dean screamed._

_Nothing happened. Normally when Dean would scream, Mommy or Daddy would come upstairs. Lately it had only been Daddy because Mommy was sick with the new baby._

_Daddy didn’t come._

_The door moved open a crack._

_Dean Winchester, even as a small 3-year-old, never let anything beat him. He held on to Teddy for a moment, breathing heavily and gathering his courage, then flung himself from the bed. He ran to the closet door and shoved it closed with both hands. He stepped back and looked at the painted white wood in front of him. The door didn’t move._

_Dean grabbed Teddy, who had fallen when he shut the door, and returned to bed. He pulled the covers back up to his nose and clutched his stuffed toy._

_For a long time the door didn’t move._

_When it did, it opened halfway. Once again, Dean screamed into the night. Closing the door hadn’t fixed the problem. It always worked when Daddy closed the door. And still Daddy wasn’t coming._

_“Mommy!” He cried out. Maybe Mommy didn’t know Daddy wasn’t with him._

_There was no response from either parent. Dean didn’t peel his eyes from the closet door, which still stood half open, but now with a soft light spilling across the floor. The light was not on in the closet._

_Dean didn’t know what to do. If he got off the bed again, he would lose his safe spot. But what if the thing in his closet was going to come out?_

_That’s when he heard a soft growling._

_Dean closed his eyes and threw the blanket over his head. There was a monster in his closet and it was growling. The small boy hugged his Teddy with all his might and wondered where his parents were. He could still hear the TV. Had they fallen asleep?_

_The growling was louder and doing this sort of hitching thing. Dean wondered if the monster had a cough. Then the hitching started forming into something that sounded like singing. No, not singing. It was like the monster was talking._

_He pulled the blankets from his head. The light from the closet had was brighter, and the growling was starting to sound more like a voice. It was still very rough and Dean wasn’t yet old enough to know what a hoarse throat was, but if he were he would most likely have associated the sound with that._

_It was only when the first audible word came from the closet that Dean let go of Teddy._

_“Dean…”_

_The boy backed up to his headboard._

_The voice was human sounding now, though still very rough._

_“Dean. I need you to open the door.”_

_Dean’s mouth flew open and his eyebrow hit his hairline. He hesitated for a moment and then said, “No.”_

_There was a pause before the haggard voice spoke once more. “Dean, I will not hurt you. I need you to open the door for me.”_

_The boy shook his head, then pulled the covers up to his chin. “No monsters in Dean’s room!”_

_“M-monsters?” The voice sounded very perplexed. “Dean, I am your guardian angel.”_

_Dean blinked at that, then looked over to the small ceramic angel his Mommy had put in his room on his bookshelf. His Mommy always said angels were watching over him, but she didn’t say he had his very own angel._

_He lowered the covers again. “My angel?”_

_“Yes,” the voice said with a sigh. “Yours.”_

_“Have you always been in there?”_

_There was a small huff that even the child could tell was a soft laugh. “No. This is new for me.”_

_Dean sighed. “Are you stuck?”_

_“Yes,” the angel/monster said. “And it is very painful.”_

_The little boy sat up straight. “You hurt?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“The closet hurts you?”_

_“Very much.”_

_Dean bit his lip. He didn’t know for sure if it was a monster or an angel, but he was a kind child and never liked it when anything was in pain. His Mommy and Daddy taught him to care for others, and pretty soon he’d be the big brother. Big brothers were like Batman, and Batman wouldn’t leave even The Joker_ _in pain._

_He scooted off his bed, Teddy dangling from his left hand, and crossed to the closet door. When his foot fell into the light on the floor, the warmth tingled his skin. Dean was sure nothing bad could make such a light._

_The small boy peered behind his closet door._

_Inside the small space was a man. He was huddled on the floor in a long coat and shivering. Dean glanced back at the angel on his shelf. No wings. He looked back at the man. He had dark hair like Daddy, and he was glowing a golden color like Mommy. Dean realized the light wasn’t coming from the closet, but from the man himself._

_The little boy reached a hand in and touched the man’s shoulder. He shivered beneath the touch and looked up at the small face in front of his. Dean liked the messy hair, and the man’s eyes looked so very understanding and nice._

_The man huffed out a small laugh again. “You are so small.”_

_Dean pulled back his hand with a pout. “You glow.”_

_The man held out his own hand before his face and observed it. “Interesting.” He said. “So, this is how you see me?”_

_“You are in front of me.”_

_The angel-man groaned. “Flawless logic.”_

_“You still hurt?”_

_The man nodded. “I am still in the closet.”_

_Dean looked at his own hands clutching the door. It was already half open, but it was the last bit of something keeping the man in the closet and out of his room. The boy swallowed and looked back to the man, meeting his eyes. “Don’t hurt me.”_

_The man shook his head. “I would never.”_

_Little Dean looked at him one last time, then stepped back, opening the closet door with him. It stood wide open, and he let go of it. The man in the closet stood and stretched, cracking his back and neck with groans._

_“Thank you Dean.”_

_“S’okay.” He said._

_The angel stepped out into the room, light following him and illuminated everything around him. Dean thought the angel would make a good nightlight._

_The angel stopped and looked at the small child who was following his every movement with his eyes. “You are three?”_

_Dean nodded._

_“Is your mother preg—are you expecting to be a big brother soon?”_

_Dean nodded again. “Mommy says this many months.” He held up a full hand and two more fingers._

_“Seven,” the angel muttered. “Late October or early November.”_

_“Halloween is soon!” Dean chimed in._

_“Excellent.” The angel patted his head, and Dean found he liked the touch._

_Dean leaned in to the man’s leg and he felt a warm hand embrace him idly. “Want to see my costume?”_

_“I do not believe I have time.” The boy’s smile fell. “Would you like to tell me about it?”_

_“Yes!” The boy jumped excitedly. “I’m gonna be Batman. Mommy made my costume. I will have a mask and everything.” He felt the angel ruffle his hair repeatedly. It was a little bit like when Mommy looked for ticks. It was okay. He liked the angel-man._

_“Do you have a cape?”_

_Dean nodded, then looked up to the man’s face. “Will you tell me a story?”_

_The blue eyes winced as he glanced back to the closet, then returned to the small child before him. His shoulders slumped and he nodded. “I will. A short one.”_

_Dean gasped and ran for his bed with a big grin. He snatched up Teddy again (he couldn’t keep a hold on him), then climbed into his big boy bed. The angel-man walked behind him and helped to tuck him in._

_“Tight at the bottom. Loose at the top for Teddy.” Dean instructed._

_The angel-man followed his directions, then sat down on the side of the bed once the little boy was settled._

_“Story?”_

_“Ah yes.” The angel-man cleared his throat. “Once there was a boy named…Dean.” Dean squealed happily over this, but quickly settled so that the angel-man would continue._

_“The boy lived with his mother and father—”_

_“Mommy and Daddy.”_

_“He lived with his mommy and daddy and little brother Sammy.”_

_The boy looked at him in the eye. “I’m gonna have a baby brother?”_

_He nodded. “But you must not tell Mommy and Daddy. They want it to be a surprise.”_

_Dean covered his mouth with his hand and nodded. The angel-man smoothed out the covers around his shoulders and Teddy._

_“One day, Sammy wandered off into the woods—”_

_“No!” Dean interrupted. “Big brothers don’t let baby brothers wander off.”_

_Another huff from the angel-man. “Your soul is already so beautiful.”_

_“I won’t let anything happen to Sammy.”_

_Fingers brushed across the boy’s forehead, fluffing the soft bangs into a small mess. “I know.” He shifted on the bed. “But if you would let me finish my story, you would know that you save the day.”_

_“I save the day?”_

_“Indeed.”_

_“Okay, I’ll be quite. Please finish it.”_

Dean woke up with a mild but persistent headache pecking at his temple. He groaned as light flooded into his eyes once he opened then, then rolled over on his side. He vaguely knew that there was a new memory behind the pain, but he didn’t even attempt to touch it now. His arm slid over the side of the couch, and his hand brushed something warm.

Castiel was lying on the floor with his eyes shut. Dean blinked. He wondered momentarily if the angel was asleep, but then he opened his eyes to look up at the Winchester.

“Hey.” Dean said.

“Hello,” the angel said.

“Are you okay?”

Cas grunted as he sat up, then leaned his shoulder against the couch. “You fought me some. I am not…at one-hundred percent, but I am well.”

“I have a bit of a headache.”

“Yes,” Cas glanced down to his lap with a thoughtful expression. “It would seem that I did not simply look into your memories, but interacted with them.”

In a flash the entire incident came back to Dean. “Whoa.” He grabbed his head in pain. It was now throbbing, but the spike of hurt soon coiled down to its former light pounding. “Fuck me. I remember you. Mom always said you were my imaginary friend. Was that real?”

“I do not think the situation happened on the earthly physical plane, but yes it is real. Your three-year-old self and I had a conversation.”

Dean groaned and leaned back into the couch. “I still don’t think that answered my question, but whatever.”

“The good news is,” Castiel began as he got to his feet and started to clean up the pot of honey-based glaze, “we greatly narrowed down the search area. The spell helped with that, but I also know now that we only need to search three more months of that year to find the marking incident.” He placed the pot on the cool stove, then put the lid back on.

Dean sat forward and nodded. “Yeah. Can we wait till tomorrow? You know, after we get some shut eye?”

Castiel looked at Dean, then back at the pot. He slipped it back off the stove and shoved the whole thing in the refrigerator. He turned back to Dean.

“Absolutely yes.”

 


	13. Waaaay Too Touchy Feely For Me

The two tried another session in the morning. Castiel managed to land fairly close to Thanksgiving, he assumed since it was all young Dean could chatter about. It was fruitless since the boy was still unmarked. It was fruitless save for Dean’s new memories of the angel man reading him _The Giving Tree_. The hunter recalled it sitting on his shelves as a child, but his parents had never gotten to read that particular book to him before the fire. After the fire, there were no more shelves of books.

Dean sat on the couch with his hands clasp and his elbows resting on his knees. He’d never gotten to read or hear that book in his old life. Now, he remembered it as his favorite picture book. That was because of Cas. He glanced up to where Castiel was sitting across from him, reading the TV guide. Already, Castiel communicating with his childhood self had changed something about him. How much would change? Dean was grateful for this new development, because he recalled sharing _The Giving Tree_ with Ben—who was much, much too old for it—and Lisa. It made that much of an impact on him. Was that because of Shel Silverstein’s writing, or because of Castiel’s voice? He wasn’t sure.

It was a lot of emotional “what-ifs” and Dean wasn’t sure he could sort through it. He wanted a beer, without Castiel.

 

 

He thumbed through his phone and found Patrick’s number while he leaned against the deck’s rail. Dean toyed with the idea of calling the other hunter, wondering if he would even still be in town. Below his name was Rufus’s number, then Sam’s main cell. Maybe he should just call Sam and talk to him rather than going out with Patrick. It wasn’t like he knew the other hunter very well, after all. There was no way he could confide in him about Cas or about traveling to the past.

But…maybe he could talk to Patrick about _men_. Dean cringed at the weirdness of it, but it would seem that he needed to deal with it. He’d had a wet dream about Cas, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t like the shorter man’s body against his last night when he came in upset. It hadn’t even been a sexual thing really, but he was comforted. Comforted in a way that Dean knew usually only came with someone you were emotionally intimate with. He wasn’t even that close with Sam.

So, even though he was aware he was emotionally stunted in many ways, he wasn’t a complete idiot. He needed to sort this out, or else he’d leave it hanging forever and that wasn’t fair to Cas or himself. Maybe if he were still twenty-six, he would use the duck and cover method, but not now.

He pressed the “send” button before he could change his mind.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey Patrick. I was wondering if you were still in town.”

There was a bit of a shuffling sound, then the voice came back with a gruffness it hadn’t possessed before. “Y-yes.” The man on the other line cleared his throat, then his voice was back to the lighter baritone Dean remembered from before. “I am still here. Just.”

“Oh,” Dean processed this. “I mean if you are planning on staying for a while longer, I was wondering if you might like lunch and a couple of beers. Did I wake you?”

“No, no. I was just…lost in concentration. Researching, you know.”

He did. “Okay. How about the Salty Dawg? Have you been?”

“Long time ago. That would be good. When?”

“Um,” Dean glanced at his watch. He wanted to make sure that he had time to tell Cas ahead of time so he wouldn’t worry. “Give me fifteen?”

“Fine.” He heard more shuffling in the background then “See you soon, Dean.”

The hunter closed his phone, then turned to see Castiel standing in the doorway to the house. He slid it closed behind him as he came out into the porch. Dean wondered if Cas felt left out. Maybe he should have invited him to come along. No—he really wanted Patrick to help him sort through the gay feelings.

“Hey,” Dean said pathetically. “I’m gonna have lunch with that hunter I worked with yesterday.”

The angel approached the rail facing the surf and leaned his palms on the old wood. “Okay.” He said.

Fuck, Dean felt like an ass for not inviting him. “Would you like to come with us if we do it again?”

The blue eyes seemed lighter in the late morning sun. The angel blinked out the light, then turned to Dean. “I would like that sometime—to meet your new friend. For today though, you should take a break. Enjoy your time with another hunter. Talk shop.”

Dean thought about how Cas just kept showing his innate awesomeness. Seriously, why in the hell would Cas love _him_?

The hunter just gave his friend an easy smile. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Do not mention it,” Castiel leaned heavier on the railing, relaxing into the wood. “ And for dinner, we will have some honey glazed ham. Deal?”

“Deal.”

 

 

When Dean arrived at the restaurant, the tall ginger had already found a table and ordered his Dr. Pepper. Dean scooted the bucket on the table over to a vacant section so that he could rest his arms more easily on the white plastic. Patrick shifted in his seat in a way that made the other hunter think the big man was nervous.

“Hello, Dean.” Patrick scraped his palms against each other, then rested his large hands on his knees.

“Hey. Did you order?”

“Ah, no. Just the soda.”

“Ah.”

The taller hunter kept fidgeting in his seat. It vaguely reminded Dean of the time he put itching powder in Sam’s underwear.

“What’s up, man? You look like you knocked up the preacher’s daughter.”

Patrick gave Dean a side glance that said “don’t be ridiculous,” before saying “I’m fine. Just tired.”

The Winchester squinted at his new acquaintance. “Dude, can we talk about something?” At the other hunter’s hesitation to answer, Dean said “I could use some…advice.”

Patrick visibly relaxed. “Of co—sure. Anything.”

“Okay.” Dean stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles. “How did you know that you were into guys?”

“Uh…do you two need a min?”

The two hunters looked up to see a early twenty-something girl with a blonde ponytail with a notepad at the ready. Fucking hell. Patrick’s eyes slid from the girl, back to the man across from him. His face was ridiculously calm. Dean had a moment where he felt his cheeks begin to heat, but interrupted the blush with his famous charm.

A crooked smile fell over the Winchester features. “Not at all, darlin’. I’ll have what my friend here is having to drink, and your popcorn shrimp basket with fries.” The server’s stance was looser, but Dean decided to give her one last push. “My goodness, you just have the prettiest eyes. Patrick, doesn’t…”

“Addy,” the woman provided with a growing smile and light flush to her features.

Dean leaned toward the other hunter, but kept his eyes on Addy. “Doesn’t Addy here have the prettiest eyes?”

Patrick’s expression didn’t alter as he deadpanned, “Incredible.”

Dean turned to look at the red-head with a disbelieving look on his face. Then Patrick provided; “I’ll have what he’s having,” with a nod towards Dean.

“Alrighty.” Addy took their orders, then left with a bounce in her step.

Dean leaned across the table to glare at Patrick. “Dude, you’ve gotta be nice to the waitress. They literally control the quality of your food. I for one don’t like spit as a garnish.”

Patrick smirked. “Yeah okay.”

“That’s right.”

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed as they read over the menus they didn’t need. Dean was paying close attention to the drinks and dessert sections. After Dean nearly forgot Patrick was there, the big man spoke up.

“To answer your question—never.”

“Huh?” Dean pulled his eyes from the words in front of him.

The other male sat forward and rubbed his palms along his jeans. “I never had a realization moment that I ‘like guys.’ I don’t like most people.”

Green eyes bore into hazel, and Patrick rubbed a hand over a stubble-roughened chin. “My partner was male, sure, apart from a few women I’ve been slightly attracted to, he was the only one I ever had the desire with which to copulate.”

“Dude. Copulate?”

“Sorry—bang into the mattress?”

There was a snort from Dean. “I guess that answers my question about who was pitcher.”

The corners of Patrick’s mouth pulled upward. “There wasn’t really established roles, but often enough: yes.”

Dean wore a stupid smile for a few seconds before a realization hit. “You were a virgin before you met him?”

“Yes. In a sense.”

“What does that mean.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the taller man leaned back and waved him off. “Anyway. I can see that you want to discuss being attracted to another male. Do you have questions for me?”

“Uh,” Dean looked down at his hands and picked away a hanging cuticle. “Yeah…there’s this friend of mine who…”

“You want to bang into the mattress?”

“Shut up.” The two men looked at each other like young school boys, then Dean snorted and they broke into light laughter.

After a moment of recovery, and Dean’s drink arrival, the conversation continued. “But…yeah. Kinda. I think so.”

“This friend of yours,” Patrick took a gulp of his soda. “Do you have other feelings for him?”

“Yeah…really yeah.”

“And that makes it harder to either ignore him or fuck him?”

“I guess.” Dean looked a little lost as he wrapped his fingers around his glass.

The red-head watched him from across the table, seemingly reading his emotions; looking through him. “So…don’t do either. Do something else.”

“You mean a relationship.”

“You already have a relationship if you are friends.”

“Shut up. You mean like a boyfriend or something.”

Patrick snickered. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Fuck…I guess.”

“It sounds like you are beyond discovering that you might be attracted to guys.”

“It’s just him. Not even women anymore really. Just Cas.”

“And, Dean. That’s the way it is supposed to be...”

Dean didn’t have a response to that because he knew what the unfinished sentence contained. _That’s the way it is supposed to be when you love someone._

_Fuck._

 


	14. It Has Ruffles

Dean stood outside of the restaurant, ready to begin his walk back to the beach house. Patrick had left only moments ago. Dean wondered if the big man was lonely, because the last half of their visit had taken place on the deck of the building, after already saying their goodbyes. It was as if the redhead was stalling before the long drive home, and Dean found that he too was killing time. He wasn’t sure if it was because he liked spending time with the other hunter, or because he was still jumpy at facing Cas.

Either way he liked Patrick, and the man had let Dean use him as a sounding board on an awkward subject. Dean got along with most hunters, but they weren’t people he could really stand being around for long periods. He figured part of the reason he liked working with Sammy was because the kid was smart and sensitive. It meant that when he needed to—not that he actually needed to, more like he wanted to—he _could_ talk to Sam. And Cas. Other hunters—no. You really couldn’t let your guard down around them.

As he pulled his phone from his pocket, he told himself he’d make it a point to keep in touch with the other man and meet up with him if they were in the same area. It would be good to have another friend.

He dialed Sam’s number more out of instinct and habit than purposeful thought.

 

 

Sam heard his phone buzzing from where it was charging in the kitchen, but he couldn’t get to it. He was stuck under a pile of musty, dirty old books, as Bobby was valiantly digging him out. Sam had used the term “swamped in studying” before, but it had never been so literal as now. Luckily, there was nothing broken or sprained from what he could tell, though he was pretty sure he tweaked the shoulder on which he landed. It would be sore for a few days, but no lasting damage.

That was good, because he was under a crap-ton of books and it was taking some time to clear them. “Doin’ alright?” Bobby’s even more haggard voice than usual called to him.

“I’m cool.” Sam felt the corner of a random book press into his ass. He groaned softly at the discomfort. “Like a spa day.”

He heard the older hunter grunt as he unloaded a heavy bunch of books from Sam’s frame. “Well, that’s what you get for climbing up a bookshelf. Moron.”

“Bobby! If _I_ can’t reach it, then there is a problem.”

“When you’ve got ten foot ceilings, there ain’t! Oh, and we have a ladder, genius.”

Sam was about to retaliate—with what, he wasn’t sure because there was no good defense for his actions. He would have been a shitty litigator. Anyway, he was about to say _something_ , when the world opened up and he could see the grizzled hunter’s face as the man pulled back the book that had been laying right on Sam’s nose.

The two looked at each other through the small window of books and began to laugh.

 

 

“Hey Cas.”

“Hello Sam.” The angel answered the call from his friend in a cordial manner. He sat down on the couch, kicking up his legs to rest on the far cushion.

There was a small sound on the other line. Castiel assumed the younger hunter was clearing his throat. “Listen. I, uh, got a weird voicemail from Dean earlier and he’s not answering his phone.”

Castiel nearly rolled his eyes. “Yes. He seems to do that around his new friend.”

“New friend?”

The angel signed and took a sip of his cream soda. “His name is Patrick. He is friends with your Sean. Don’t worry—I checked.”

“Okay…Sean’s a stand-up guy. Sure This Patrick guy is too then.”

“Good to know.”

“What is he doing out with him?”

Castiel fingered the remote control, debating with himself if he should turn on the television. He thought it would be rude to ignore Sam, so flicked it on and pressed the mute button quickly just to have something to look at. “They met on the beach and hunted a banshee together in the wildlife sanctuary nearby. Dean indicated that it was an easy job.”

 “Oh. Cool. Uh, well the voicemail was…Cas?”

“Yes Sam?”

“Have you two…I mean has your—ugh.” There was the sound of laughter in the background from a certain older and gruff hunter. “Bobby, come on! Jeez. Cas?”

“Yes Sam,” He repeated once more as he felt his eyebrows draw down.

“Have you and Dean... _done_ anything I should know about?”

Cas blinked and flipped to a cooking channel. “We have narrowed down the search area, but nothing significant yet, no.”

“Not for the mark, Cas. Have you two done anything that might, uh, change your relationship?”

This time Castiel froze from his channel surfing. The angel looked at the phone with something akin to the look a first grade teacher might give a student who asked her where babies came from. “You are wondering if we’ve had sexual encounters.”

“Uh…ew, but yeah kinda. Or uh, anything closer to that.”

“Sam, I have not disrupted your brother’s delicate sensitivities.”

“I uh…”

“It was a joke, Sam.”

“Uh…”

“Because I referred to Dean as conservative a virgin.”

“Right.”

“Which he isn’t.”

“No.”

“It is funny because were your brother a female, he would most likely be known as a slut.”

“Uh, yeah I guess—”

“But he isn’t so he is known as a stud, which has a positive connotation as opposed to the generally accepted female equivalent which is very negative.”

“Yeah—”

“Why is that, Sam? Why do your people hold different standards in regards to sexuality with females than with males?”

“Cas! It’s a shitty world. Look, when Dean gets back just have him call me. Okay?”

“Alright Sam. Goodbye.”

“Bye Cas.”

 

 

Castiel suspected that Dean would be home later than expected. Once he’d hashed out his phone call with Sam (after writing a letter to his congressman about the implications of the word “slut” when used as a derogatory term for females), he realized that the talk with Patrick Moore either went well, or very poor. He wished he could have heard the message Dean left on his brother’s cell phone—and technically he could have listened in pretty easily—but he decided that wouldn’t be very fair to Dean’s privacy.

He figured Dean would talk to him when he was ready, which meant he assumed Dean wouldn’t show up until dinner time. So, Castiel the angel used the honey glaze from the previous night’s spell to make the honey glazed ham Dean seemed so eager for.

When the ham was finished, and the sweet aroma permeated into every part of the small house, the hunter returned. It was as if he’d been able to smell it from wherever he’s been and tracked the scent of pork back to Castiel. He walked through the door with the biggest grin on his face.

“Ham!”

Cas held up a hand from his—holy shit, Castiel was wearing an honest-to-god apron—

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean pointed at the _pink_ apron, slack-jawed before the angel could get a word in.

The being with the dark hair and blue eyes sighed and dropped his hand. “Yes, an apron Dean. It really is not the apocalypse.”

“It has ruffles.”

“The apocalypse?”

“The apron, _mother_.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean. “Would you be this conflicted over your feelings for me if I were your mother?”

Dean stared at Cas for a split second before answering, “Actually, I think that would be about 190% more confusing.”

“Look.” Castiel’s voice was stern and even. It caused Dean to pipe down—that is, until the angel brought up a ladle and waved it at Dean to punctuate the point he was about to make. That’s when the hunter truly lost it.

“Dean!” The angel must have let just the tiniest bit of his real voice color Jimmy’s, because the house shook and the hunter found himself toppled to the floor with ringing in his ears.

The human rubbed his ass as he winced from the fall. “Ah…fuck me.”

“Gladly,” suddenly there was angle in Dean’s face. “Now, as I was attempting to say; you cannot have your ham until after we search your memories once more.”

Dean let out a groan that indicated ‘but Dean want _ham_.’ Castiel reached out to him and helped him to his feet. The hunter brushed himself off then looked at his friend with a wince.

“Okay.”

Castiel was certain there was a distinctive pout on the man’s face. The angel felt sure that humans over the age of thirty were _not_ supposed to pout. Castiel reached out his arm and awkwardly patted the hunter’s shoulder.

“Go lay down on the couch.”

“Yes, _mother.”_

 

_Missouri knew there was something more to what Mommy and Daddy called Dean’s “imaginary friend” than what they thought. The woman with the large eyes had looked so deep into Dean’s, he thought she must be able to hear his heartbeat._

_“Boy, you’ve been talkin’ to someone new.”_

_“Yes ma’am.” Dean replied as he helped the woman pinch the edges of a pie crust._

_She turned to him and held his chin gently in her hand, bringing his face into a better light source. “Hmm,” she cooed. “Angel, and a kind one.”_

_“Aren’t all angels good?”_

_“I believe they think so, but sometimes they go astray—just like people.” She dropped her hand from his chin, leaving a smudge of flour behind, which she wiped away with a damp paper towel. “When your momma gets back from the bathroom, you don’t tell her we had this conversation.”_

_“You want me to lie?”_

_“No darlin’. I just know she won’t understand—she’ll be worried for you, when there is no reason to. You just let her think Angelman is someone you made up. You understand?”_

_“I didn’t tell you his name.”_

_“No, but your eyes did. Now promise me.”_

_The small child looked down to the pie crust that had small uneven pinch marks. “I promise Miss Missouri.”_

_“Good boy. Now; what type of pie would you like to make with this?”_

_“Sweet apple, please.”_

_She ruffled his hair as she reached for a mason jar. “We can do that.”_

_Daddy thought Missouri was a fibber because she said she could see ghosts—or something like that—but Mommy had always liked her and would often take Dean to see her. Mommy said that M was just very “sensitive,” and sensitive people knew things others did not._

_And she knew Dean’s angel would be to see him tonight._

Castiel brushed his knuckles over Dean’s hand as he watched the man’s closed lashes flutter slightly in impatience. It shocked him when the hunter turned his hand over and grasped Castiel’s fingers in his. The green eyes opened momentarily, and the angel swallowed softly as he met them. He was _not_ supposed to be attracted to humans in this way. But then—he figured his father would not give angels the ability to mark humans if they were not meant to share lives.

He cleared his throat as he knelt down to the floor beside the couch. “Are you ready?”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. Castiel lowered his head to nearly touch his nose to the other man’s and said the words quickly and quietly.

_“Angelman?” Castiel couldn’t help but smile at the heroic nick-name the young Dean had given him. “Will you come back?”_

_Castiel nodded. “I will have to, yes.”_

_Dean nodded curtly, then said; “Good. I missed you.” The small boy suddenly threw his arms around the man’s waist—well more like his upper legs—in a wonderful hug. Castiel let his arms slowly wrap around Dean in return, a bit shell shocked at the devotion which was obvious in the embrace. The angel felt no less in return for the youngster._

_After a few minutes—amazing a small child could stand so still and so quietly for so long—Castiel dislodged himself from Dean, took a few seconds to hold the child’s gaze, then let go._

_“I love you, Angelman.”_

_The angel just looked at his charge, eyebrows raised up in surprise. “And I you, Dean.”_

 

 


	15. Date Night

Dean opened his eyes to find Castiel had already recovered enough to be in the kitchen, attending to supper. That was an odd one. The hunter was suddenly flooded with alternative memories from childhood involving his favorite super hero Angelman instead of Batman. He wrote stories about Angelman in crayon, then in pencil once he was in a school long enough to receive creative writing assignments.

Angelman was also the person he dreamed of the nights after the striga attacked Sam. Castiel, his personal hero since he was tiny—if only in his head.

The grown man turned to watch his friend in the kitchen. He was beginning to think if there was ever going to be “the one,” that one had always been Castiel.

“Mark?” Dean called.

“Not as of two days before Thanksgiving.”

Dean nodded to himself, then stood. He had a mild headache that was already receding from the front of his thoughts. This shit was getting easier. Pretty soon the two of them would be pros. He walked himself into the kitchen area and watched as Castiel began to slice the ham. The angel cut through a few pieces very unevenly, then looked at his hands and shook his head. In the next instant, the knife was gone and the ham was completely sliced—evenly and neatly.

“Dinner is ready,” the angel picked up the pan and looked at Dean.

A snort erupted from the hunter. “Why Cas, how very domestic of you.”

The dark-haired man looked down at the meat in his grasp. “Hm. I suppose using divine powers to slice meat is a bit excessive.”

Dean laughed as he took a seat at the small table. “No dude, it is totally cool.”

Castiel placed the ham dish in the middle of the already set table, then took a seat across from Dean. The angel then folded a _cloth_ napkin and placed it on his lap. Dean watched this, then mimicked Cas’s ettiquite, slowly dropping the napkin onto his own leg. He looked up from his lap, then finally took in the table. Preset with cold beers, the plate in front of him was one of the house’s better ceramic style rather than the hard plastic they’d been using. The silverware was set as if for a formal dinner—well as formal as the number allowed. There were dishes of steamed broccoli and roasted potatoes on either side of the glazed ham.

Dean looked across the table to Castiel, who was waiting for Dean to take his first serving of everything.  It was as if something physically fell into place and clicked inside his brain. “Cas?”

“Yes Dean?” The long fingers knit together atop the table as the blue eyes bore into him.

The human was so shocked at his revelation that he barely moved his mouth to begin his question. “Cas, was this supposed to be a date?”

The blue eyes fell to the table, darted around gathering information, then jerked back up to meet green. “No?”

Dean gave the angel his patented “bullshit” look. “You sure about that?”

“Well,” Cas let his gaze fall to his hands. “Not at first—no. Just a nice dinner. However, looking around now, I see that it may have been a subconscious intention—yes.”

“Huh.” Dean didn’t know quite what to say to that. “Huh…”

“I—there is no reason to make this uncomfortable, Dean. I simply want you to enjoy the dinner you’ve been looking forward to. Anything else is unimportant—”

“Cas, it’s okay.” The hunter cleared his throat and readjusted the napkin on his knee. “I actually kinda like the idea now that I think of it.” Then, at the angel’s oblivious and confused stare: “It can be a date.”

“Oh,” the voice came out even rougher than usual, like sand over glass.

Dean shook his head. _Stop being a fucking pussy._ “Cas. I like you, okay?”

The angel only stared at him wide-eyed. Dean waited for the head tilt—there it was.

“I mean I like you like you. Like I’d like to try this. Okay?”

Castiel only nodded slowly, then reached for a slice of ham to give himself something to do.

Dean watched the angel fumble with the meat— _oh God, did it have to be that wording?_ He quickly ducked his head and spooned out some potatoes before his face could turn red in front of his friend. Cas slowly cut his slice of ham and eyed Dean from across the table. The hunter seemed distracted and perhaps even embarrassed. The angel felt his cheeks tighten as the corners of his borrowed lips crept up.

“Okay so…” Dean’s husky voice forced out a cough. “Uh…” The hunter looked across the table to his friend, slack jawed. “What do we talk about?”

The blue eyes blinked. “What would you normally talk about on a first date?”

“First date, shit.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “Uh, well…usually you get to know one another.”

“But we already know each other well,” Castiel supplied.

“Exactly.”

The two sat for a moment, both looking like they were at a loss for what to do, then Dean opened his bottle and downed it in two gulps.

“Another?” the angel asked.

Dean waved him off. “Yeah, but I’ll get it.”

“Dean, I would not mind—”

“Cas, I don’t want a maid—” Suddenly there was a cold beer in the place of the last, beside of his right hand. “Um…okay maybe I could get used to that.”

The angel chuckled as he forked a small piece of potato. He then brought it too his lips and chewed it, then quickly covered his mouth with his other hand as his eyebrows drew together. The divine being turned in his seat and brought his napkin to his mouth and discreetly spit the half chewed food into it. Finally, he turned back to Dean and the hunter noted that the napkin was now clean. Cas replaced it on his lap.

“Didn’t like it, hm?”

“I do not seem to, no.” Castiel took a drink from his beer. “I think either I or Jimmy does not care for pepper the way you do.”

Dean shrugged and took a large bite of the starch he thought tasted just fine. “So next time we’ll salt them, we can add anything else at the table. Not a big deal.”

Castiel nodded, then took a bite of the broccoli with a more successful swallow soon following. “We could ask each other questions.”

“Pardon?”

“We could ask each other questions that we have always wanted answers to. Maybe we were too shy, or concerned we would be prodding…” The square jaw tilted down as blue eyes ran over his hands. “Whatever the case may be, we are assured now that we will answer with honestly.”

Dean watched his angel’s obvious attempt to keep the ball rolling, and couldn’t bring himself to poo-poo on the idea. “Okay,” he said. “One condition though. We each get one pass.”

“A pass?” Cas was now looking into Dean once again—it was amazing how _normal_ that now seemed from this particular person.

“Yeah…each of us can ‘pass’ on one question we are not comfortable with.”

Castiel looked at his plate for a moment, seeming to contemplate the idea. He then nodded and looked to the hunter. “That would seem fair.”

“Okay then.” Dean took a sip and a bite of the ham. “This is fuckin’ awesome by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you conjure it or…?”

“Cook it? I cooked it manually.”

“Wow…nice.”

“Thank you. Do I begin?”

Dean put his silverware down on the plate and sat back in his chair. “Sure.”

The angel mimicked the motion, then folded his hands over his stomach. “Do you remember me from hell?”

The man stiffened a little from the mention of hell, but relaxed quickly enough. Like all things, you healed, and there was only so long a body could stay in stress. And he respected the fuck out of Cas for asking him point blank like that rather than dodging.

“I might.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “I remember a cool feeling—no warm—both? I remember a feeling of relief from the pain and whatever the temperature was. It was a comfort.” Dean felt a tiny bit of moisture behind his eyes, but blinked it back. “Was it only you?”

“Is this my question?”

“Sure.”

The angel sat back in the chair with his hands at rest on his vessel’s belly. He stared right into Dean Winchester’s eyes. “At that time, yes.”

“But not at first?”

Castiel sighed, something he very rarely did—or at least from what Dean could recall. “I was only a part of a large garrison.”

“I thought you lead your garrison.”

“Mine—yes. This was not mine. This was…” He seemed to look for a term. “I suppose you might call it a form of special task unit. We were all more elite angels, but no arch angels.”

“Why no arch angels for Michael’s vessel?”

Castiel shrugged, nearly mirroring Dean’s earlier movements. “That I cannot tell you. At the time I was not even aware that was your function. I just thought you were someone who would keep the apocalypse at bay.” The blue eyes slid into Dean’s gaze. “But that was another question.”

“Ah right. Your turn.”

There was no hesitation or thought with this question. “Do you find me attractive, or my vessel?”

A bright red bloomed in the hunter’s cheeks. He took a quick gulp of his drink and the blood seemed to return to his control. “Um…wow. Direct.”

“Yes.”

“You. Jimmy—what I recall of Jimmy did nothing for me.”

“Huh.” The angel’s chin lowered slightly as he studied his human.

“Er—well. I guess I can see that Jimmy has nice eyes and hair—which I like…and a good bone structure okay, but none of that works for me in _that_ way unless—fuck.” Dean rubbed his hand over his eyebrows. “It all comes together when _you’re_ inside okay? When you control the body—fuck now I feel like a potential rapist if this goes any further.”

Castiel’s head tipped to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Jimmy.” Dean waved in Cas’s direction. “He’s in there someplace, and I’d be willing to bet he would not want me messing with his body.”

The angel’s shoulders grew slightly more rigid. “I had not really thought of that.” His eyes drifted off to the chair beside Dean’s. He looked downright guilty. “I so rarely speak with him anymore—he sleeps mostly—I had not…” Was Cas biting his lip? Dean’s mouth opened slightly.

“Talk to him about it.” Dean couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “Get his okay first.”

Castiel nodded. “That would only be right.”

“Yeah. Who’s question is it?”

The angel reached out a hand to his bottle and twisted it on the table. “Yours.”

“Okay…why were you the only one to make it to me in hell?”

Castiel stopped fiddling with the glass, then raised his eyes to his human. “Many were killed…some retreated even against orders. I did not.”

“Because you are a loyal one.” Dean’s half grin produced a small smile from the angel.

“Dean, I did not know it at the time, but you are my human.”

“What does that mean?”

Cas returned to his bottle twisting, making slight rolling sounds on the table. “It means that God matched us. It has happened before—often the angels know about it in advance, but sometimes they do not. We were matched based on complementary strengths and weaknesses.” The angel scooted forward and rested an elbow on the table. He picked up a broccoli crown with his fingers and munched on it slowly. “I believe my father thought we would be good for each other. Could you imagine if Uriel had been your angel?”

“No.”

Castiel smiled. “Me either. But to answer your question; I could not have left you. There was already a bond between us—rocky perhaps, but it was there. When I saw you and knew who you were to me, there was no turning back.”

“But you got to me before you realized? Why did you make it that far?”

This time Castiel’s cheeks flushed slightly, though the angel did not try to hide it. “This is another question.”

“Oh come on, Cas.”

“Fine. I admired you.”

Dean blinked as he chewed on a piece of ham. “Come again?”

The angel readjusted the napkin in his lap. “I felt any human who would go to hell to save his brother—even after knowing how real it was—deserved better than to be left there. I am sorry it took me so long to get to you.”

Dean wanted to say “it’s okay,” but it really wasn’t. But it also wasn’t Cas’s fault. So, he said nothing about it, and just changed the subject.

“Your turn.”

“Would you do it again? Go to hell for Sam’s life?”

A whole fuckload of tough questions tonight. Dean felt himself crack his neck before he even realized he was going it. “I would like to say yes…but I don’t think so.”

Castiel sat forward. “I am a little surprised by that answer, Dean.”

The hunter looked down at his plate. “Before, when I made that deal, I knew hell was real. But it was an—what do you brains say? Oh an ‘abstract’ idea. I didn’t really know what to expect.” Dean sighed, then clenched his hands over his knees. “I didn’t expect to have to torture others.  People I knew.”

The angel blinked as he took this in. “The woman you had dealings with over the colt.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.” He looked away. “Anyway. I know what it is now, so I don’t know that I can say I would save Sam by using that method.”

“Of course, it is not your only option now.”

“That’s what I tell myself. It’s my turn.” The Winchester took a large bite of ham, then washed it down with a swallow of beer. “Lighter side of things—sex. When are we gonna try that out?”

“Uh,” Castiel stopped mid-bite of ham. “Do we have to make an appointment?”

Dean wasn’t sure if the angel was serious or joking, but he tried to stifle a smirk just in case. “Ah, no.”

“I am not _opposed_ to the idea.”

“Do you think I’m sexy?”

“Clearly, but that is a second question.”

“Damn.”

Castiel picked up his now empty plate, and moved it to the sink. Dean, who wasn’t quite finished, sat at the table while the angel leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Alright, since we are on the topic of sex…”

“We sure are.” Dean’s grin was severely lop-sided. Castiel had come to know this grin as Dean Winchester’s ‘when am I getting some’ grin. He’d never really thought he’d be getting it. The angel could not deny the small stab of pride at the development.

“How will we be having sex?”

The grin on Dean’s face slowly melted to that of a look of discomfort. He cleared his throat, then turned back to his food. “Cas, you need me to tell you the mechanics?”

“Not at all, I’ve been watching the planet for millennia. I know how two men have sex.”

“Ah good, because I would need some research time and I am _not_ asking Sam to help so it could take a while…”

“Dean—I meant to ask what you were comfortable with in terms of intercourse with me.”

The angel walked around the table to gauge the hunter’s reaction. He was slack-jawed with a fork halfway to his mouth. Huh. Could have been worse.

The human put down his fork, then seemed to shake off an image. “Uh well…if I’m gonna do this thing I wanna do it right, you know?”

“I am afraid I do not.”

“Jez, Cas.” Dean looked away from his friend, around the room, then back to him as if he were watching to anyone listening in. “I mean I trust you, and I’ve never done any of this shit before. So, shouldn’t we try everything?”

The smile on the angel’s face was anything but pure.

“God damn, Cas. I didn’t realize you were such a perv.”

The angel circled around to the couch and took a seat, kicking his feet up in the process. “I learned from the best.”

“Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point there.” Dean stood to take his plate to the sink, but it and the table settings vanished before he could touch it. He looked down at the clean table with some awe. This was gonna be pretty cool.

He looked across the room to Cas. He had two choices: sit with the angel on the couch, or in the armchair. He supposed he could stay at the table, but that was dumb. Soft cushions or hard wooden seat. No need to ask Dean Winchester twice.

Dean decided he was managing a mild level of horny because of the very weird, but still sexy conversation. This mild level suggested that he should sit with the object of his desires on the couch. Fine by him. Who was he to argue with his dick now of all times? Maybe he could get a little action tonight. He slid into place next to the shorter man and immediately placed his hand on Castiel’s knee. The angel looked down at the digits with nearly scientific curiosity.

“Dean,” Castiel looked at his friend. “What are you doing?”

“Um…” There was no point in lying to Cas. He probably already knew the answer to his question, but was just being courteous enough not to jump ahead in the conversation. “Makin’ my move?”

Cas blinked at his human with a look that a cat might give a dog who was begging to play. “I see. And where do you hope to get tonight?”

Dean’s grin was pretty uncontrollable, and he felt like a bona-fide dork as he slipped his free arm around Cas’s shoulders. “How about some making out? Nothin’ too fast.”

The hunter wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the pupils of the angel’s eyes widen slightly. “That could be agreeable.”

“Cool.” Dean leaned in to Cas’s breathing space and let their breaths mingle for a moment. There was no way he’d ever admit it to anyone, but he was nervous. This was _Cas_. If this fucked everything up, he would never forgive himself.

He was about to lean in for the lip contact, when Cas’s hand which had so easily slipped to Dean’s hip suddenly clutched into him so hard it _hurt._ He watched as Cas’s eyes flew open, the pupils pulling in to pin-pricks, eyebrows raised nearly to the hairline. The angel’s teeth were bared and his jaw was taunt with stress. It was as if Castiel couldn’t move, and he went completely stiff under Dean’s arm.

Like a seizure. Oh fuck, the mark and the touching!

“Cas!” The panic was creeping into his voice. He didn’t know what to do! It seemed like the angel was not going to respond. He shook him by the shoulders for a few seconds, watching the angel’s body remain stiff when his head should have been lolling back and forth from the motion.

Could the mark’s pain kill him? Dean didn’t think so—it didn’t make sense to kill off more of a race that didn’t naturally reproduce. Was it because he was still touching Cas? The hunter released his grip on the angel’s shoulders, but the only result was that Castiel fell back into the couch, still stiff as a board.

“Cas, oh God Cas.” He was at a loss. Dean was usually a man of action, but couldn’t seem to do _anything_ in this situation to help his friend. What _if_ Cas were dying? What if he didn’t have full brain function after this—thing? He knew that an angel’s being and intelligence had nothing to do with the vessel’s but he knew this was fucking with his very _grace._ What if that could be damaged? Like if Cas had a stroke, and was never the same. He recalled how Cas was briefly reprogrammed after his trip to heaven right before Sam killed Lilith. It wasn’t a loss of who he was, just a bind for a while and it had been bad enough. What if who Cas was to Dean couldn’t survive this attack? It felt like teeth were ripping through his chest—not unlike, but perhaps worse than the hellhounds.

Maybe there was something he would still go to hell for.

The realization made Dean physically sick, and he pulled away from the couch, forcing Castiel’s grip on his hip to drop. Instantly, the angel’s fit stopped at the loss of touch. But Dean’s was only beginning.  He hobbled himself into the shared bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet. He heard footsteps behind him and vaguely thought that this was probably the first time Cas would see a human puke.

But Dean didn’t puke. Thank something, because the dinner was too fucking good to waste like that. After a few minutes of hugging porcelain, the coolness against his cheek reassuring and sobering, he pulled back and leaned against the tub.

Castiel folded his legs under himself and sat beside Dean with their shoulders touching. Dean turned to look at the angel and was surprised to see the man looked pale and very disheveled. “You look like shit.” He murmured.

A smile twitched at the corners of Cas’s mouth. “You are green.”

Dean swallowed, then took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry Cas. I guess I forgot.”

“I did too.” The angel’s eyes lowered to the tile of the floor between the two men. “I am sorry it frightened you. I was not in danger, I assure you. Simply immobilized.”

“It scared the shit outta me.” The hunter raised his eyes to his friend’s face. “I don’t want to think about you not being around. You, Sam, and Bobby are my family.”

Castiel placed his hand on Dean’s. “And you are mine.”

“You have thousands of brothers, Cas.” Dean placed his other hand over the angel’s.

“I do, but I do not feel bonded with most of them. Those I do, I call friend.”

“Like Balthazar.”

“Yes. Can we move you now?”

“The bathroom is not spinning, so yeah.” He didn’t even fight the angel’s assistance to his bedroom. The smaller man hauled him around like a crane; Dean didn’t even need to really do anything to help. He was on the floor, then he was in Cas’s arms, then he was in a comfy bed.

He groaned as he rolled onto his side. “Oh sweet Jesus…pillows.”

He heard the small huff from Castiel which indicated a laugh, then felt a hand on his back rubbing small circles. “What made you sick, Dean?”

The hunter closed his eyes at the question. “Dunno…maybe stress?” _Why had he gotten sick? It wasn’t a hellhounds flashback really._ Dean wasn’t sure, but didn’t feel like his progressing headache would really allow him to be very introspective at this time.

Castiel let out a small hum sound, then covered Dean’s shoulders with the top sheet. “Need the blanket?”

“No, this works. Thanks man.”

“Of course. Please sleep Dean.”

He felt the small twitches begin to indicate that he was well on his way. “Mm-hm.”

Dean didn’t hear Cas leave. He was pretty sure the angel stayed with him until he fell asleep.

 


	16. Sleeping Angels and Christmas Cookies

At first he’d thought Cas ran out to the store. Then, when the other man—err, angel—didn’t come back for some time, he was concerned that something might have happened to Sam or Bobby. That was where Cas would normally be if he were not with Dean. Or in heaven.  _Heaven._ Finally, Dean was terrified that Cas was in heaven fighting Raphael and probably losing.

The hunter paced the living room with a frustrated anxiety that could only be described in one word as _panic._ He’d made a very quick call to Sam, but his brother had sounded more annoyed and busy than in danger. Considering the gruff old-man bitchfest he could hear in the background, Dean figured Bobby was cool too—though, he may have been getting a little sick of baby bro 24/7. Things were fine in Sioux Falls, so that only left two possibilities: heaven or lying in a ditch somewhere.

Dean didn’t like the thought of either, and he may have been well on his way to wearing a hole in the floor if it weren’t for his next thought.

_Hey. What if he’s in his room?_

It was a thought that would have been a natural conclusion with any human, but Dean knew that Cas had yet to use his bedroom at all, preferring to simply watch TV or read on the common room couch while Dean slept at night.  Soon enough he opened the door to what was by default  Cas’s bedroom. There on the bed and over the covers lay an angel. Dean smirked to himself, then remembered that Castiel sleeping was _not_ normal at all.

The hunter quickly moved into the room, calling out his friend’s name. He sat on the side of the bed and placed his hand on the still shoulder. The minor nagging fear that Cas was dead left him quickly when he caught sight of and heard the lungs breathing—not that the angel needed to breathe. He squeezed Castiel’s shoulder— _Jimmy’s_ shoulder.

“Dude?” He shook.

“Hmmm?” Castiel’s blue eyes opened slowly, then looked up to Dean. “Did I…?”

“Sleep?” Dean cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Um, yeah ya did. You okay?”

Castiel groaned, then sat up. Dean dropped his hand as the angel swung his legs around to touch his feet to the floor. “Fine.”

“Dude, the only time I’ve seen you sleep was when you were—”

“—Nearly human. Yes, I know.” The man rubbed at his blue eyes. “I’m still an angel, Dean. Do not worry.”

Dean watched the man run a shaking hand through his dark hair. “Is this because of lastnight.”

Cas nodded.

“Any…” The hunter was terrified to ask, “Any permanent damage?”

“No,” it sounded like the angel was hung over based on the heavy scuff of his vocal chords. “Just drained. Do not ask me to bend time and space today.”

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and he placed a hand on his friend’s back. “Good thing we only need to read my memories, huh?”

“After breakfast. I want eggs and bacon, and I do _not_ wish to cook them.” Suddenly there was a plate in Dean’s hands. He once spent a weekend with a family of farmers, and the giant pile on his plate reminded him of the amount they would down in a meal.

Castiel held a plate identical to his, only with maple syrup over the eggs.

“Cas, uh…you _hungry_ now?”

The angel shoveled a forkful of sweet and sticky scrambled eggs into his mouth then spoke through the load in his cheeks. Dean was vaguely proud that he’d corrupted the angel so.

“I seem to desire more food the longer I am on earth. I sincerely hope I do not become like Gabriel.”

_Dean knew when Angelman was going to be back. He wasn’t sure how he knew exactly, but he’d known since dinner. He’d even told Mommy that he would need extra cookies for Angelman tonight because he knew he would be there._

_The small child waited until he heard his parents retreat downstairs after tucking him into bed, then crept out from under his covers and across the room. He waited at the closet door—a door which used to lead to scary monsters which went bump in the night, but was now his favorite hiding place in the house because he felt closer to his angel. After just a few moments he felt a small shaft of warm light touch his toes, and he opened the door fully to his friend._

_“Merry Christmas, Angelman.”_

_The dark-haired man’s eyes widened, then his expression settled into an easy and soft smile. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”_

_“Mommy gave me extra cookies for you.” The little hand indicated the small plate of baked goods on the play table in the corner of the room. “She said to make sure I didn’t eat them all by myself; to save some for you.” The grin on the tiny boy’s face was utterly contagious, and Castiel couldn’t keep himself from returning it in full._

_“Thank you Dean. And be sure to remember to thank your mother for me.”_

_His hand was grasped before anything more could be said, and the angel allowed himself to be dragged over to the small table and made to sit in a miniature chair. Cas tucked his knees gracefully against his chest and took the first cookie offered to him by little Dean._

_The boy sat across from him and began to munch on a star-shaped sugar cookie. “I asked Mommy if the angel on top of our tree is you.” He said between crumbs._

_“Oh?” Castiel raised an eyebrow “And what did she say?”_

_“She said it was most likely Gabriel. Are you Gabriel?”_

_The Angelman shook his head. “No, but he was—is my brother.”_

_“Cool,” the pint-sized fingers went into Dean’s mouth for a good cleaning. Castiel chewed down his bell-shaped cookie, thinking of how baked goods in general were beginning to remind him of an older Winchester with green eyes._

_Dean looked at the plate of cookies. Mommy had only given him three, so now there was one left. He wondered if he should take it, but decided against it and instead reached out and broke it in half._

_One part was larger than the other. “Here,” Dean handed the larger half to Angelman._

_Castiel stopped his hand, then traded his larger half for Dean’s smaller. “You take the bigger one, Dean. You need it to grow up strong.” He quickly ate the smaller section so there would be no arguing._

_Large eyes watched this with little time to react. He simply watched the angel eat his part, then looked down at the large hunk in his hand, then swallowed it nearly whole. “Thank you,” he said._

_Angelman stood up and adjusted his long coat. “How about a story, Dean?”_

_The little boy nodded excitedly and practically leapt into his big-boy bed. Once Castiel had the small form neatly tucked into place, he began his story. He told the story about the first Christmas. Oh he left out a few details—children didn’t need to know that the lion actually ate the lamb—but he also told some truth. He explained that Jesus was just a little baby boy, just like Dean’s little brother Sammy would be. That he was created out of love between his human mother and father, and that being human is what made him special to God. That his ability to choose his own path, and then making the right choice was what was so special. Castiel felt it was important that young Dean know how much a simple human could change the world. It was the angels who had dictated that he was some form of demigod when they told the story to the humans much later._

_He also remembered to tell Dean that the angel Gabriel brought cookies—or what amounted to cookies back then—to the baby Jesus, without realizing that the sweets would go bad long before Jesus could ever eat them. Mary and Joseph loved them though._

_“Have you always been my angel?” The small boy with brown hair asked after the end of the Christmas story._

_Castiel felt Jimmy’s heart beat heavy at the question and the implication. “Yes.”_

_“Will you always be with me?”_

_“Always.” He smoothed his hand over the small boy’s head. He’d nearly forgot to check for the mark tonight. He started to part the hair around the crown subtly._

_Dean leaned into the touch. He liked when Angelman touched his hair like this. He did it every time he came. “Will you protect me forever?”_

_Castiel stopped his hand movements. The angel looked down to the tuft of wavy hair and the small body leaning into his side. The tiny hands squeezed the plush teddy bear. He wanted to tell Dean that he would keep him safe. He wanted to protect Dean from the death of his mother, from the metaphorical loss of his father and childhood. He wanted to keep Dean as far from Hell as he possibly could. Hell…He remembered what the soul of his friend looked like when he found him—so very warped and twisted. So very nearly a demon. He would prefer if he could save the person he loved from such a fate._

_It would only take a visit in September. Castiel could come back then and prevent Azazel from corrupting Sam, and save the boys’ mother. Apart from the physical time travel, it would be nothing at all to destroy such a demon when he was unaware. He could ambush him. Hell, Castiel could bring a garrison with him._

_Dean could grow up with a stable father, a living mother, and a constant home. He would probably have a dog, attend three schools with the same kids, and perhaps even have a chance at a college education. Dean could most certainly have a family eventually. Castiel roughed his hand over the hair beneath his palm, and the boy giggled._

_There would be no need for Castiel in Dean’s life, and though that gave the angel serious pause for his own needs and desires, he shook it off and decided that what Dean needed came first. Heaven could stay corrupt, and there was no risk of the apocalypse without a tainted Sam and a hell-bound Dean._

_He passed his hand once more through the hair, getting a clear shot of the boy’s clean pale skin. Nothing yet, but there was very little time left in the year. The touch once again became less exploratory and more nurturing. He pulled the small body against his own vessel, tucking him safely under his arm._

_“I will protect you from all things. This I promise.”_

_The small face turned up to watch his Angelman and the two locked eyes. The young Dean snaked a soft hand over Castiel’s trench coat lapel._

_“Stay until I sleep?” The boy’s voice was not pleading, but hopeful._

_Castiel nodded and ruffled the child’s hair. “Of course.”_

_The two settled down, Dean tucked safely under the cover and his Angelman situated beside him atop. The small child nuzzled into Castiel’s side, within his arms. After a very short time, Dean fell into a sound and even sleep. Castiel took a moment to ensure the small child would dream of a happy Christmas morning, then returned to his Dean._

 


	17. Pass

Dean groaned as he sat up from his spot on the couch. Castiel leaned against the sofa, seated on the floor in just his new sweat pants and tee. Dean still wasn’t used to seeing the angel so casual. He let out a soft whimper as his back cracked with a faster movement. Cas’s eyes trailed up to watch him.

“Fuck,” Dean said. “Your screwin’ with my memories too much, Cas. For like three years after that Christmas, I put out cookies for you instead of Santa.”

The angel couldn’t help but reveal a small smile at that. “Did you really think of me after you were three?”

The hunter looked down at his friend and felt a warmth that had always been there, but was much easier to access now that he possessed the new memories. It was odd; he could recall what his life had been without Cas in his childhood, but he was being more effected by the timeline with Cas. If it was possible, Dean felt even more familiar and fond of Castiel now than he ever did before their ventures to the past began. Oh sure he knew Cas wasn’t _really_  in his past; that it was more like a shared dream between his younger self and the angel. It was a completely real experience though, and he could feel the slight reshaping it had on his life.

“When Dad would leave us with anyone but Bobby, I would hope you would come for us—for me.” Dean smoothed a hand through his bangs. “Hell, Cas there were a few times when I was left alone with Sam for weeks when I was in middle school and he was still a kid when I would dream that you would come take us away from that crappy hotel.”

Dean chose _not_ to mention that being the age he was, sometimes those dreams intermingled with wet dreams. Suddenly Dean mentally jumped from pre childhood Cas to post childhood Cas, and his mind was able to accept the odd dream the other night about Castiel in the rec room better than it had before. After all, he’d had similar, if not as direct about sexuality and preference.

The hunter blinked and gave his friend a hard look. “These trips of yours are re-wiring my mind, Cas. It’s like all _1984_ and shit.”

Castiel stood and dusted off his pants, then walked into the kitchen for a soda. He’d gotten much more in the habit of eating and drinking now that he was with Dean Winchester so often, and he liked sweets. He suddenly thought of Gabriel winced.

“I doubt I am completely changing your perceptions, Dean.” He murmured as he cracked open a can and took a sip before returning to sit in the armchair. “Other than my few nighttime stories, what could I have done to change your values?”

Dean wanted to say ‘because you became my hero, and everyone falls for their hero, and when the hero is a dude, it makes things complicated, and now I’m complicated’ but decided against it since it sounded like it belonged in a chick-flick.

Instead he grumbled. “You were there, and you were you.” This made less sense, but was also less girly. Dean decided his hands were fascinating and that he should keep a good watch on them just in case they became even more interesting in the next few minutes.

The angel sipped his soda as he sat in the chair beside the couch. “I am sorry I was not able to save you from the hotels.”

Dean laughed at the absurd way Cas said that. After a moment, he gave the dark-haired man a sideways glance. “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He crossed one leg over the other and took another gulp of his drink.

“You think maybe,” He swallowed, hoping he wouldn’t sound like a complete pussy. “Maybe you could go back and visit me when I’m older too?”

The blue eyes narrowed at him in thought. Castiel looked rather like the detached and powerful being he used to be, sitting there with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, and his fingers curled over the arm of his chair. Only the clothes and the pattern of the chair ruined the illusion.

After a moment’s thought, the angel spoke. “I do not believe that would be the best thing for you.” He didn’t mention that if his plans for Dean and Sam worked out, he would have no need to visit Dean. Instead he said “Didn’t you believe I was imaginary by that age?”

“Well, yeah.”

Castiel took a drink and realized he was out, then put it aside. “How much would your life change if you believed in angels before me?” Dean was silent at that. “Furthermore if you thought I was real, at that age, knowing what you knew at the time, would you not think I was something you should hunt?”

“Huh,” Dean breathed as he leaned into the back of the couch with his arms outstretched. “Guess you got a point there.”

A moment of quite descended on the house while the two thought over changed time and the implications of any possible altered lines. This quickly turned to the angel thinking on how he might meet Dean without having to raise him from hell. Could he? Could he possibly deny his duties in heaven when he was in the mindset of that time? He highly doubted it. But Dean was his human. Surely there was what the brothers called a “plan B.”

Castiel sipped at his soda as he consider the possibility of a world without the near apocalypse, but still with Dean.

Dean’s mind, on the other hand, had slipped to more horny thoughts. It was like he was a freakin’ teenager again, only this time he sometimes thought about his childhood imaginary friend. Oh yeah, and he was a dude who glowed. The hunter pushed the memories of that stage of his life—now altered by Cas, thank you very much—to the back of his brain. However, he still had a bit of a boner.

He looked up at Castiel, who seemed lost in thought as he gazed at the black TV screen. He couldn’t _physically_ fuck Cas right now, but that talk last night had been pretty sweet. Maybe they could…do like phone sex? But in person?

He closed his eyes and licked his lips. “Hey Cas, what are you wearing?”

There was a very long silence, which Dean soon realized was an awkward pause. He heard a rough throat clearing, then opened his eyes to see two blue orbs simple staring at him as if he’d lost it completely. Hell, maybe Dean had.

“Dean?”

“Ah,” he sat forward and waved Cas off. “Never mind, man. I just wanted to talk about some…fun stuff.”

The angel cocked his brow. Dean was pretty freakin’ proud of that change in his friend too. Expressions were coming along nicely. “Fun stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“You wished to discuss sex again, didn’t you.”

He was caught. “Uh…well maybe a discussion wasn’t what I had in mind…”

Another awkward moment as Cas just stared at him with no clue.

“Oookay.” He cracked his knuckles. Desperate for a change in conversation. “Uh…let’s play the question game again.”

“From last night?”

“Yeah.”

The dark haired man in the easy chair inclined his head to answer affirmatively. For a moment, Dean was at a loss. Damn it! He’d brought the game up.

“Er.” Dean coughed. “What is your favorite color?”

“Excuse me?”

“Humans usually have one…or a few. Is there a color that you like best?”

Castiel blinked, then raise the can to his mouth and drank before placing it on the coffee table. “I can see a much larger spectrum than you, Dean. How shall I narrow it down?”

“Uh, well,” he didn’t really have much of an answer for that. “Maybe only see with the human bits?”

The angel sighed, then seemed to humor Dean by focusing his eyes and looking around the room. “I seem to like the cooler hues. I like blue, which may be due to Jimmy’s overwhelming preference for it. However, I also seem to enjoy green.”

The angel’s eyes lingered on Dean’s for a moment longer, then turned back to his can of soda.

“It is my turn.”

Dean nodded, rubbing his palms over his knees.

“Do you like dogs.”

“I fucking hate—”

“Answer honestly, Dean.”

Dean stopped. He swallowed slowly, then looked away from Cas. “I _love_ dogs, okay? It just isn’t fair to have one while you’re on the road. You know?”

“I do.” He nodded somberly. “You know, that…were we to pursue this relationship…I could make us a sort of permanent safe house…for such things. Travel time would be greatly reduced.”

“I supposed you could—wait.” Dean stared at the angel. “You want a dog?”

The angel stiffened at the question. “I love all of my father’s creations.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean smirked. “Sounds like you want your very own petting zoo.”

Castiel looked away. “I believe it is your question, Dean.”

 “Um…okay. If this thing,” Dean motioned between the two men. “If it works out, what are you going to do when I die?”

Castiel sat upright and folded his hands in his lap. “I thought we were to talk of ‘fun stuff.’”

“Well, you know compared to _hell_ …”

“Fine. I will simply go to heaven with you.”

“I’m going to heaven?”

Castiel looked at him point-blank. “Duh, Dean.”

He couldn’t help but let out a burst of insane laughter. To laugh like that felt so good. Castiel making jokes felt so good. He found himself wiping away a couple tears as he spoke again.

“You can do that?”

Castiel nodded. “Once I remove Raphael, yes.”

“Any more plans on that?”

“I believe it is my turn: may I have a dog?”

“Not at this time. There. What do you have planned for Raphael?”

The angel looked at him for a long and hard moment before saying “Pass.”

“Cas, that’s for personal things. I need to know how to help you.”

“Pass.” The angel’s eyes said he was firm on this.

Dean threw his hands up. “Fine.” He said. He placed his palms on the coffee table and leaned forward. “You used up your pass—I get a new question and you have to answer it honestly.”

Castiel’s eyes burned a brighter blue as his skin seemed to pale.

“ _Why_ won’t you _tell_ me about your plan to take out Raphael?”

He had promised honesty. The angel’s eyes bore into his human’s as if he might be able to stare him into eternity and perhaps he’d forget about that promise. No such luck.

“It is dangerous, and…” his eyes slid to the side for a moment, then back to the hunter. “Not completely ethical.”

Dean scoffed. “Well Cas, when have I cared about ethics?”

“Dean, ethics does not mean ‘don’t have one-night-stands.’ Ethics means ‘don’t have one-night-stands with a partner who thinks it is about long-term commitment.’ Okay?”

The hunter looked at the angel for a moment, then said, “Cas, you thinking about seducing Raphael?”

The angel simply stared at him with a flat, less than amused expression. “Jesus, okay Cas.” Dean threw his arms up. “The problem that I see is this: in my line of work, if it isn’t ‘ethical,’ then it is usually dangerous. You know, like a demon deal? It always bites you in the ass in the end.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then stood and turned his back to Dean. _That_ wasn’t a good reaction. The human shifted to the edge of his seat. “Cas?”

“Dean, I…” The raspy voice simply trailed off, but the hunter could see the man was clenching his fists.

“Cas, tell me.”

“I cannot.”

Dean stood up. “Castiel, you tell me what you’re planning for Raphael this minute.”

The man with the messy dark hair turned to face the hunter. “Are you attempting to patronize an angel of the Lord, Dean?”

“Damn straight.” He squared his shoulders, letting his friend know that he was _not_ backing down on this.

Instead of getting the information he wanted, Dean was met with a firm “No.”

“Cas, we can’t have a relationship,” Dean used air quotes on the word “relationship” to make his point, “if we aren’t on the level with each other.”

The green eyes bore into the angel, but the heavenly being set his jaw—the motion stemming from his experience with the Winchesters more than natural body language. “Not at this time.” He stated simply.

Dean turned away from his friend, too pissed to even look at him. His shoulders twisted as he turned, beginning to pace along the rug. It _hurt_ that Cas wasn’t gonna tell him anything about his plan for battling the archangel, and Dean was finding it hard to take _that_ kind of hurt from the man he could potentially turn gay for. He felt his jaw clamp as his teeth grit slightly.

At first, Castiel thought Dean might hit him again, and his first instinct was to prepare to dodge so that the hunter would not break a hand. The blow failed to come, however. That was when the angel noticed that the human in front of him actually had moisture in his eyes. _Why?_

Emotion simply rolled off the hunter—so heavily that Castiel could not ignore it as he often did for the sake of Dean’s privacy. There was anger, hurt, and fear. Above all, there was that gnawing fear almost leading to a panicked state. He grew concerned that his human would soon hyperventilate or something else that humans in panic often did.

“Dean.” He spoke firmly, but with a gentle quality his friend usually responded well to.

Dean wanted that hurt to remain—he wanted to stoke that rage he was feeling and seethe and stew in it for a while. “Cas. You and me—we don’t keep stuff from each other. Sammy and me, we love each other, but we haven’t always been …” Dean fought with the words he was looking for, “…open. It’s caused a lot of problems between us, and I’m willing to bet it always will. We’re so different that we just can’t always be that _easy_ together.”

The hunter took a step forward and grasped his friend’s hand—more than a potential lover, Cas was his friend, and family. There were so few barriers, and he didn’t want them to start now. Especially if they ever managed to reverse this stupid mark and move on.

Castiel was a little startled at the movement, and the resulting hand under his. The two stood with air between, a smooth hand in two rough, cradling as if they were holding the most precious thing in the world. The angel looked up at Dean’s face, eyes agreeing to meet. Maybe holding his hand was the most precious thing to Dean Winchester. The heavenly being thought he’d never been so moved—even with all his father’s works—and perhaps it was because emotions were more piercing now, having learned how to pay attention to them. This was again, mostly due to his time with Dean. He swallowed, and he forgot for a moment that his body was not his own. It was _Castiel_ swallowing back the moisture in _Castiel’s_ eyes. Not Jimmy’s.

Dean watched as Cas blinked in front of him, gulped, then turned his face away. He rubbed his thumb lightly over the angel’s knuckles, sure that now, with the coaxing, Castiel would tell him. Be honest with him. Allow him to help. Make him a part of his life.

Castiel breathed out, feeling the full effects of a sigh for the first time, then turned back to his friend with wide, large eyes. Were Dean to attempt to stop him—and Cas was sure he would—he would surely be killed. And if Dean died now, while Raphael was in charge of the majority of the host, Castiel would never see him again. Worse: if Dean went to heaven, he would be within the archangel’s domain. He could use Dean against Castiel. It was forbidden to torture the dead in heaven, but Castiel did not believe that would stop his enemy, who had already brought down so many in such cruel ways by acting on the forbidden. It could be eras before Castiel could rescue Dean.

“Dean.” Castiel repeated. “I cannot tell you.”

The older Winchester son felt his brows draw together to form a wrinkle between. He felt the twitch as a snarl formed on his lips. He pulled his hands back, feeling burned from perceived betrayal. Castiel’s hand dropped like a rock, his face seemed to follow suit.

“Fuck you, Castiel. Go to hell.” And for a split second, Dean meant it. And while it was only a split second, and completely generated from anger rather than true emotion, he knew his friend had felt its honesty. Every ounce of pain and regret Dean experienced during his stay in hell, he wished upon the being before him. He wished it on him for that split second; that he might be willing to go through hell again for _this angel_ who was just as closed off as his brother, who he might not be willing to make the same sacrifice for a second time. It was horrible that he might make that deal again for this ass, but not for his own brother.

The move was fast. So fast that even Castiel was left blinking in surprise at how quickly Dean left the house. The angel was left stunned, and hardly able to breathe. He lifted his hand to wipe at his cheek, and was once more stunned to find dampness there.

 


	18. How To Deal

The ringing at the other end of the phone stopped suddenly. A throaty answer let him know that Patrick was on the other line. Did he always call him when the dude was half asleep or something?

“Dean,” came the response to the phone call.

The hunter shoved his car door open with a squeak and thought to himself he’d need to fix that soon. He pulled his “going out” leather jacket from the back seat, then slammed it shut much harder than his baby deserved. He patted her in apology before turning away to walk the mile to the bar, feeling the need to burn out the anger through some exercise.

“Still in town?”

“I… _can_ be very shortly.” Dean heard some rustling from the other line and a car horn. “You sound upset, Dean. Did you fuck it up with your friend?”

He felt his jaw tighten. “Something like that, though in my defense—he’s being a stupid careless closed off ass-wipe.”

“Oh?”

“He’s probably gonna do something stupid—I don’t really want to talk about it over the phone. Can you be at the bar across from the place we bought the beer after the hunt in uh…like twenty minutes?”

There was a hesitation from the other line. “Dean, are you sure you don’t want to talk to him about it? He’s the one who needs to know your feelings.”

“You sound like my brother—which means I _really_ need to talk to you.” He kicked a rock into the sand by the road. “Look; this isn’t my plan for running out on him. I just need some cool down time okay? I promise I will talk to him after you let me bitch.”

“Alright. It seems that I can’t get rid of you. You’re like a cumstain on black underwear.”

“That was beautiful Patrick.”

“Mom used to call me her little poet. I’ll see you in twenty.”

“Yeap.” Dean snapped his phone shut.

 

 

More than anything, Castiel wanted to track Dean invisibly. He had done it a few times—usually for Dean’s protection when he was being pig-headed. Once he had watched his friend shower, which started as a curiosity, but soon became something much more voyeuristic when the hunter had decided to masturbate under the hot water. At the time, Castiel was still very much heaven-touched and did not recognize his discomfort for the modesty it was and excitement in which it resulted. It led him to watch Dean with a partner, on more than once occasion he was a bit ashamed to admit. He quickly ended that practice when began to feel what he later identified as jealousy. At that realization, he could no longer tell himself it was for the observation of Dean’s character.

He could follow. It would be very simple given how close he was in physical proximity. But Castiel simply could not violate Dean’s trust like that after such a conversation. His human was upset with him because he was not being forthright for perhaps the first time in their friendship, and he had left with the intent of being alone. Castiel would not intrude upon that.

The angel then considered texting Dean, simply to make sure he was going to be alright on his own, but decided against it. Dean had his phone. He could call or text Castiel if he needed him. He looked at the clock and decided that if Dean was not back by midnight, he would try to text him at that time.

Underneath all these thoughts, there was a nervous humming energy from his very grace. What if in his effort to protect Dean, he had pushed him away permanently?  He did not think that Dean would be so petty as to end their friendship, but he knew it would never be the same if the human did not feel he could have full disclosure with and from his angel. And he wanted to. He wanted to so badly. But not at the cost of the human’s life. Certainly not at the cost of his time in heaven.

Castiel sat down on the couch, still feeling what the humans tended to call “shell shocked.”

 

 

Patrick was already there when Dean arrived.

“You must have been close by.”

“I was, yes.” There were already two cold bottles on the table. Dean took his seat across from the other hunter and grabbed one, taking a large swig. He waved over a waitress as he gulped.

She bounced a little bit as she walked over, but it did nothing for Dean. “May I help you?”

“Oooh,” Dean cooed slightly. “Where’d that accent come from, beautiful?”

The woman with honey colored hair laughed lightly, as if she always got this question. “I’m Romanian.”

“I like. Can you say ‘I have crossed oceans of time to find you’?”

“I can.”

“Will you?”

“No.”

Dean groaned with a smile, being his charming self. “Alright, well. I am going to need more than just this beer my friend has bought me.” Patrick shifted and rolled his eyes at Dean. “Can I get two shots of whiskey, please?”

“I’m not drinking that,” Patrick piped up.

“Who said they were for you?” Dean grinned wide at the waitress. “And if you have bacon cheeseburgers and fries, I would happily take one of each off your hands.”

The waitress simply shook her head with a smile. It was obvious that she knew Dean’s kind, and knew although he was flirting, he wasn’t here for her tonight. “Be right out with your drinks, sir.” She walked over to the bar before Dean lost complete view of her.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Must you always flirt with the wait staff?”

Dean took another gulp of his beer. “Actually it is kinda my thing, yeah.”

Patrick shrugged and took a sip of his drink. He ran a hand through his shaggy red hair, then rested his palm on his knee. “Well Dean?”

“The fucker isn’t telling me everything.” The man with the tightly cropped brown hair crossed his arms on the table, and laid his head down on top.

Across the tabled, Patrick’s eyebrows drew together. “What is the subject matter?”

Dean considered keeping it from his new friend entirely, then sat back in his chair. “Ah hell. Might as well tell you.”

Patrick threaded his fingers together as Dean’s shots came.

“Oh thanks,” he said offhandedly to the waitress, then downed one as she left. “We’re…hunting this pretty big thing. And I am thinking that Cas might do something stupid to bring it down.” He waved his hand in the air.

“I see. Why would you think that?” Dean watched Patrick’s lightly freckled fingers as the thumbs twitched occasionally as if nearly twiddling. “Dean?”

“Uh, sorry.” Dean downed the next drink with a wince. “He said he has this plan that isn’t ‘ethical.’ And as you know in our line of work, when it isn’t ‘ethical,” it probably isn’t safe. I mean…really _not_ safe.”

There was a flicker of understanding in Patrick’s eyes, but he stretched out in the wooden chair, playing it off. Huh…Dean wasn’t usually that perceptive with newer people. Cas, Bobby, and Sammy he could read like books, but not most people. Patrick looked like he was covering something.

“I think,” the redhead began, “that you should trust him.”

Dean blinked. “Excuse me? Why the fuck would I do that?”

If anyone could deadpan an _expression_ , Patrick could. “You are supposed to love this man, correct?”

“That’s the theory.”

He signed, raising one long arm to mess with his hair. “So, I would trust that he isn’t keeping this from you for anything light. It is probably for your own good.”

Dean looked into his new friend’s hazel eyes, then shot his second whiskey. “Yeah, that’s what I figure too.”

“And you won’t listen anyway?” Patrick looked a little bit like Sam in that moment—the away his younger brother would often give him the _you’re a dumbass and you know it_ look.

Dean gripped his beer and look a small sip. “It he’s worried about me, then it’s because he can’t protect me. If he can’t protect me, then it’s a big bad.”

“And you are worried that he might get himself killed in the mess?”

Dean winked and took a drink.

“Well Dean, it is my belief that you should share this with him, but trust whatever choice he makes.”

The shorter hunter looked at the taller with eyebrows pulled together so tight, Patrick thought they might cross. “Do you want my potential boyfriend to die?”

There was a faint giggle from a small group of waitresses who seemed to catch that rather loud proclamation. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean was pretty fuckin’ sure that he saw a brunette give their assigned waitress a twenty.

“Of course not, Dean.” Patrick glanced over to the group of women, then sighed. “I just know better than most that you need to trust your partner—both in hunting as well as in life.”

Dean sat there with his hands caressing his bottle before he took a swig, then said “that’s pretty damn profound, Patty.”

The other hunter chose to ignore the nickname he hated so, but Dean grinned at the redhead as if to challenge him. Patrick held his cool, however. It seemed like he’d dealt with much more masterful goading in his lifetime than what Dean had in him to give tonight.

“What’s really bothering you about this, Dean?”

Dean’s features softened, and the table grew quiet for a moment. “Well, the potential boyfriend potential death thing kinda sucks.” He held up one of his shot glasses when he caught their server’s eye, then indicated a double with two fingers.

“And that I don’t doubt.” Patrick took a drink from his beer. “But what else?”

Dean didn’t answer until his new drink was under his nose. He thanked the waitress, then downed it with a pretty major wince. After he recovered, he ran his fingers over a series of scratches in the wooden table top.

“He’s never kept anything from me before.”

Patrick’s eyebrows drew upwards. “Never?”

“Well…there was—no, he’s never since we’ve been close. And even before it wasn’t really his choice.” Dean glanced to the redhead, hoping he hadn’t given too much away.

Patrick sat forward and threaded his fingers together again. “I think I understand.”

“And he’s the only person I’ve never kept anything from.”

Patrick nodded.

“So…if it is okay with you, I’d like to get drunk before I deal with him. Okay?”

“Of course, Dean.”

 

 

Castiel had a couple hours left before he was to breakdown and text message Dean. A couple of hours with nothing to do. Granted, he was an angel, a species designed to wait for human development. However, it seemed like the time thus far had taken longer than when he’d observed the whole of man’s evolution to date. So, it was really _fucking bothering him._

He was playing a small scale game on his phone, called _PAC-MAN._ That darned orange ghost kept besting him before he could get his cherries. It felt as if it were allegorical. He hid his little yellow man behind a wall as the red ghost floated past. He was almost to the cherry! He needed to cross into one of the main pathways from which the ghosts came, but he was fairly certain that none were on their way. He shifted his thumb and pressed a key as his wide-mouth slipped onto the path. Suddenly the orange ghost!

“Fuck…” Cas murmured as he watched his last life flash before his eyes. “Damn you, Clyde.” He tossed his phone onto the coffee table.

He did not wish to watch the television, but he needed to do something. It seemed as f only a few seconds had passed since he last looked at the clock. Time was not his friend right now. Castiel sat forward on his chair. Maybe he should speak with Jimmy at this time.

Castiel didn’t mean to, but he closed his eyes and folded his hands within his lap, very much as if he were a human meditating. He could feel that little spark that was Jimmy nestled within his grace in this vessel. He was deeply asleep, as he normally was these days. The man had made it very clear that he wished to remain asleep as much as possible while Castiel still held control of his body. The angel was unsure how long that would be, since Jimmy was his first more permanent vessel. He did know that some kept their same vessel for generations. Gabriel’s vessel had the distinct quality of having been with him for centuries. Whereas Raphael changed them like teen girls changed shoes.

There were two schools of thought on the matter—held by angels, that was. Humans did not think on the matter often. One was that the more frequently one changed vessels, the less you took from their lives. A human could dedicate a few years of service, and still have most of his life left once he finished. Of course that did not make sense for the archangels, since they burned out their vessel’s mind once within. This made him wonder all the more if Raphael was sadistic, to jump from vessel to vessel so frequently. And all in the same family.

The second school of thought was to take as few vessels as possible, one at a time, and keep that one for years. The idea was to affect less human lives, and for archangels, to damage as few as possible. Castiel was certain that is what Gabriel had been doing. Furthermore, it would have been to his advantage to appear consistent throughout the ages while he played at being a pagan god. Generally angels who kept their vessels for a longer time, helped their vessel’s souls to remain asleep until the death of the body. Then the soul was sent to heaven.

Castiel had never decided which method he agreed with, except that archangels should not jump from vessel to vessel as Raphael did, but it seemed he was treating Jimmy as if he were a long term partner. Although, to his knowledge, that’s what Jimmy wanted. At one point it was not, but that all changed when he saw the risk he posed to his own family. Now, the man was in a state of lonely depression most of the time, so Castiel just let him sleep. The few times Jimmy had been willing to talk, the angel had attempted to be emotionally supportive, but was reasonably sure he’d failed.

He didn’t like keeping his vessel from his family, but he had little choice in the matter.

The angel stretched forth and gently nudged what was essentially Jimmy within the body. The sleeping soul ignored him at first, but upon Castiel’s insistence he woke himself. Castiel had never insisted he wake without good cause.

_Yeah?_

_My friend,_ Castiel began. _I would like to speak with you, if I may?_

A tension filled the soul, and there was a very tactile hardening sensation. _I’m listening._

He wasn’t sure where to begin really. _Are you at all aware of the relationship Dean Winchester and I share?_

_I wish I wasn’t, but yes. I’ve gotten some glimpses._

_I see. I would like to know your thoughts on the matter, if you would._

The hardening sensation from before was ebbing a bit, but there was a prickly texture forming in its place.

_Didn’t the pitch have something to do with “God’s work?”_

Castiel feared where this was going—for he also sometimes questioned himself about this.

_Yes. And I am still attempting to do that._ He thought of the war in heaven and his plans. He knew Jimmy could see all that he was summing up for him.

_I know._ The thorny quality of Jimmy’s soul seemed to smooth over, though a coolness remained.

_I wish I could have asked for your help after your child was grown,_ Castiel lamented.

_I know,_ the human was being very gracious. _I gave myself willingly, knowing it could have been for a very long time. You were not manipulative._

The human knew what Castiel needed to hear, because while he knew he had been completely honest with him, he’d still felt like he’d been selling a product that hadn’t been quite up to par. The glory of God and all that.

_Thank you._

_You want to know if I’m okay with you using my body for sex with Dean._

_I…_ what could he say? _Yes, that is it._

_So you get to have a life with the person you love, but I don’t?_

The guilt was overwhelming for the angel. He’d considered this himself, but hearing it from Jimmy’s soul was like nothing he could have said to himself. The worst part of course was that even with the guilt, he still desired such a relationship.

He knew he couldn’t really change his volume while communicating through his grace, but it felt as if he whispered his next word in shame. _Yes._

_Why even ask me? You don’t need my permission._

_I will not without it. I would not. And of course, Dean needs your permission._

There was nothing from Jimmy for a time, but Castiel did nudge him gently to make sure he had not fallen asleep. The alert reaction let him know that the man was simply taking his time to answer.

_Dean Winchester is still the righteous man I gave my body for._

_Yes,_ Castiel felt him nod the body’s head.

_He would be the only man I would allow you to give my body to. I believe that it is because of him that you are truly doing God’s work._

Castiel understood what Jimmy was saying, although he had not considered his war against Raphael God’s work. Though, he was certain his father did _not_ want the apocalypse.

Jimmy spoke up once more, before falling silent and unaware. _Just check to make sure I am out cold before you knock boots._

Castiel opened his eyes—no, Jimmy’s eyes—and unfolded the hands in his lap. Jimmy was truly a man of endless faith and forgiveness. A very good man, who should have been allowed to raise his daughter so that she would grow under his guidance. It was a tragedy that Castiel himself had set in motion, and there was no saving it now. He could only hope that Amelia would be as effective of a single mother as she appeared to be when he saw her through Clare’s eyes. Not for the first time, Castiel wondered if he should help from time to time.

The dark-haired angel needed a soda.

 


	19. After Midnight

Dean was pretty far gone, he had to admit. He laid his head on the table with a groan. He didn’t really remember why he was drunk (because there was _always_ a reason if he was drunk), but he knew he didn’t feel any better for forgetting. He still felt hurt and betrayed. Must have been Sammy again. Was Sam still soulless? No. No fucking excuse then.

He stretched out his leg and made contact with another person’s foot. It must have been Cas…Cas was always there when Sammy was a douche.

He propped his boot-covered toe on the foot in front of him. Cas wouldn’t mind. Would probably think it was some weird humanism. He wouldn’t call him out for playing footsie. The foot beneath his didn’t move, but there was a distinctive clearing of a throat from across the table.

“I’m officially cutting you off.”

Well that was strange. It was a male’s voice, but it wasn’t Cas. Or Sammy. Or Bobby for that matter. Sure as hell wasn’t his father.

Dean looked up and saw a mass of red. Oh. Patrick.

The oldest of the living Winchester line burped.

The other hunter’s nose wrinkled. “That is extremely offensive.”

Dean sat back in his chair and scratched his head. “Sss-orry.”

“Its fine, Dean.”

He took a final gulp from his nearly drained beer. Based on what he knew of Patrick, he figured the guy was probably a lot more serious about cutting him off than Sam tended to be. He swished the drink around in his mouth, and swallowed slowly, savoring. Some people genuinely did not like beer, and only taught themselves to. This was sort of how Dean felt about coffee. He drank it when it had to—which was often enough—but he did _not_ enjoy it. But beer? Dean had loved the way the frothy amber liquid went down the first time he’d tried it. And there was _nothing_ like the bite of a cold brew on hot day after a hunt.

Cas didn’t like beer—which was kinda cool to Dean. It was cool because the angel would still drink beer with him as support, even though he only tolerated as little as possible. Dean had explained than most people didn’t like warm beer, but Cas would still put off drinking the liquid as long as possible.

It was fucking cute, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it to himself.

“Why is he so cute?”

He heard the man across from him snort, but didn’t look up from a ring on the wooden table.

“Don’t laugh.” Dean knew he was slurring, and suddenly wondered why he’d let himself get to this point.

“I’m sorry.”

“Lisa was pretty cute too. But she liked beer.”

“Dean?” The hunter looked up at the taller man. “Do you need me to take you home?”

He waved in the air. “No please.” With a stumbling scoot, he shifted closer to the table so that he could lean his elbows on it for support. “Give me a little longer.”

“Fine.”

Dean watched the man in front of him, who seemed a lot more relaxed than every other time he’d spoken with him. Sure, Patrick had seemed cool and laid-back, but Dean had caught on that there was something guarded about the man. That was good, in his opinion. Didn’t want someone trusting strangers too quickly. Probably meant there was something really wrong with the guy.

But now, the ginger seemed a lot more open. Was Patrick drunk? Or was the guy just more at ease around Dean now? He wasn’t sure, but he was noticing some…things he hadn’t picked up on before.

It seemed that even though he was more relaxed, Patrick was sitting straighter. It was kinda like when someone slouched with a new group, just to seem more at ease when he was in fact not. He had to hand it to the hunter; he’d been fooled. The dude also didn’t talk too much with his hands, preferring to keep them in his lap. This was something that people normally did when they were less at ease, but Patrick seemed more relaxed with his hands down than when gesturing.

Dean was pretty proud of himself for being so observant with his inebriated state. Right on.

Why had he gotten so drunk? The man was beginning to feel the end of his high and the start of the depression this particular drug was so good at.

He swiped a hand over his face, and paused over his eyes. He wanted to cry a little, but it wasn’t uncontrollable. Man up!

“I wouldn’t go to hell for my brother.” It just popped out.

“Uh…”

Dean groaned. “I mean…I would have. I think I still might…who knows?”

“Who knows,” Patrick echoed Dean’s words. “You are the older, protective brother. Right?”

“Well yeah,” Dean looked away, eyes trailing to some exposed brick in the wall. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

The hunter looked back at his friend. “Go to hell for your brother.”

Patrick blinked at him, his mouth slightly agape. “I don’t—” He swallowed, then shifted in his chair so that his long leg bumped Dean’s foot. “Sorry—No I would not.”

“And you don’t feel…like, _so bad_ over that?” It wasn’t meant to be insulting, but rather a true curiosity.

The redhead shook his head, the loose hair moving around his face slowly. “They would not for me, so…not really.”

“Oh man.” Dean once more ran his palm over his eyes. “Isn’t selfish? I mean truly fucking selfish for us to choose…Darwinism over Sammy?”

“Self preservation is part of your programming.” He took a sip of his beer.

The Winchester laughed with slightly manic tones, although it was quiet. “Then why the fuck would I for _him_?”

Hazel eyes flicked up to meet green, and Dean watched as Patrick swallowed. The man sat with eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“You would?”

“Fucking stupid as hell, but _yes._ Isn’t that just the piece of crap on the crap sandwich?”

The man across from him tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Dean, nothing in that sentence made sense.”

 Dean nodded, his mouth also slightly open. “I know, right?” But he barely paid attention to his own words. There was something about the man across from him that was distracting as shit.

Patrick often reminded Dean of his brother—mainly because of his height and build. The dude was a sculpted monster from what he could tell. Despite the physical resemblance, there were really very few mannerisms that the guy shared with Sammy.

But…right now, there was nothing of Sam in this guy. The almost brotherly familiarity that had been and might have been cause for Dean to open up more quickly; was gone.

Dean watched as Patrick’s jaw shifted, and he righted his head from the tilted position. His gaze moved up to the eyes of the man across from him that were suddenly so intense, it was frightening. Lisa used to be able to do that—Cas too. There was something about the way someone looked at you, as if they were looking _into_ you. Something so intimate and innately sexy about someone who _just got you._ He’d picked up a few one night stands in his time he’d felt that from. He took his time, memorized the women, allowing the connection to deepen. There was nothing wrong with feeling close to someone for a night—it was so much more powerful than just sex. People who could see him—he was sucker. That’s one of the reasons he nearly let the demon in the bartender’s body go. Admittedly, that would have been a huge ass mistake. But that’s why it was powerful—it left you vulnerable. Sex by itself didn’t.

Dean swallowed hard as he felt his pants tighten.

The man across from him breathed, and the breath was a bit shaky. “Dean?”

He was drunk, but far from stupid. Those eyes were Lisa. They were Cas. They were very _Cas._ Maybe that was because Patrick and Cas were both dudes, maybe it was because—and he hated to fucking admit this to himself—he felt closer to Cas than he did with Lisa.

Whatever. Dean was drunk, horny, and depressed—and he didn’t really recall why.

And _those eyes._

 

 

“Hey Cas, what’s up?”

The angel held the phone to his ear as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, at a loss for what to say. It was half past midnight, and there had been no response to his text message. He felt no danger affecting his charge, so he couldn’t bring himself to violate Dean’s privacy for something as simple as his anxiety.

“Castiel?” Sam’s voice—his only other friend, unless Bobby considered him so.

His throat clicked as he responded. “I am here. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, man. We were still up…uh…researching.”

“Watching an Ernest movie is _not_ researching, boy.”

“I’m taking a break Bobby. Cas, everything alright?”

Castiel looked around the empty room. “Everyone is fine, Sam. I…” He pressed his free hand to his lips, truly feeling the ridges and texture of his vessel’s skin. “Sam, I am afraid I have lost him.”

“Who?” The pitch of the hunter’s voice rose slightly.

He felt a wetness on his hand, then pulled it away to inspect it. He brought his fingers to his mouth to taste the warm, clear liquid. Salt. He was weeping.

“Dean.” The angel cleared his throat and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes, pulling himself together. “We had an argument, then he left for the bar.”

There was silence on the other line, then “what happened?”

“I was less than forthcoming with him on a particular issue, and he took great offense. He indicated that he felt it was a betrayal.”

“Goddamn it.” He heard Sam sigh into the phone. “Cas, you need to go get him.”

Castiel shook his head, then recalled that Sam could not see him. “I will not. I think he wishes to be left alone, Sam.”

“Yeah well, he’s an idiot. He’s probably getting completely drunk.”

“I imagine so.”

“Cas.” There was a nagging to the hunter’s voice. “How does Dean drown his sorrows?”

“He…gets drunk.”

“And then?”

Castiel was at a loss for a moment, then he recalled the night with the large breasted blonde. “He has sex.”

“Yeah. Man, you’ve got to stop him.”

The angel felt himself swallow, and a horrible ache begin in his chest. He didn’t know how humans stood this. It was overwhelming. “If Dean wishes to be with others, then he should be.”

“Shit, Cas. He doesn’t! He doesn’t want to be with anyone but you, idiot. He’ll just be so drunk and depressed that he’ll have no decision making skills. And if he cheats on _you_ he’ll never forgive himself.”

Cas was so shocked, all he could say was “we are not yet in a relationship.”

“Yes you freaking are. Enough to screw with Dean if he messes this up tonight. I could tell that just from the freaking phone call.”

Castiel simply stood there for a moment before he said “Thank you Sam.” And then the house was empty. 


	20. Before the Fallout

Dean had learned a long time ago that there was always a point of no return. For hell, it was the moment he stood at the crossroads and summoned the demon. No—it was the moment that Sam’s heart stopped beating. And he’d learned that no matter when that point came, he could tell. He didn’t have awesome vision or stellar hearing, but that was sort of Dean Winchester’s super perception. He always knew when he’d passed the point of no return—hell, he usually knew before, and often crossed willingly. He’d decided a long time ago that kicking and screaming got you nowhere. You might as well just face it when you took that final step. After all, it was always your own decision to cross. Free will.

The point of no return that night was when he paid their bill by flinging more than enough cash on the table, and took Patrick’s hand to drag him into the men’s room.

He was pretty sure that the redhead must have thought there was some sort of hunting emergency, because he didn’t really fight the shorter man who was pulling him through the bar. There had been no funny business from either of them all night, so no one attempted to stop their bathroom buddy system, or discern the motive.

Once Dean had him in the men’s room, he pushed him all the way in and locked the door behind them. The hunter leaned against the door, palms pressed to the cool barrier as he huffed.

Patrick was wide-eyed as he spun around in the small space. “What is it Dean? Did you see something?”

Dean shrugged. “You could say that.” Then the shorter hunter flung himself at the taller.

“Wha—” Patrick was cut off as Dean’s body sent his ass into the sink, and the Winchester’s lips were suddenly on his own.

_If he was gonna be gay, then damnit, Dean was gonna do it right._

The resistance from Patrick was unmistakable, but Dean was drunk and insistent. He moved his lips over the other man’s even though they were tightly shut. A choked murmur came from the taller hunter, and Dean felt palms press against his shoulders as the man tried to push him off.

Just as he realized that he may have been forcing Patrick to do something he did not wish to do, and was about to stop, Dean felt his friend’s mouth melt. There was a distinctive pleasured moan as the taller man opened his lips, accepting Dean’s tongue. Dean shoved it in as if he were on a crusade of some sort. And he supposed he was: the gay crusade.

 

 

_“Castiel, I would call a truce.”_

_“What would this include?”_

_“We are at a stalemate, brother. I would not see more destruction to our siblings over your obsession with these humans. Let us call it what it is; a draw.”_

_“I somehow doubt that you would be alright with giving up on the apocalypse.”_

_“Of course not. But I’ll give you…” Raphael waved his hand, glancing at his own palm as a human might a wrist watch, “Until the death of your bond.” The angel raised his eyebrows._

_“Why?”_

_“Hm…” the archangel rubbed his wrist. “I think we could use some time to recoup. Besides…you are distracted.”_

_Castiel knew his brother was right. As long as Dean lived, he would never be able to devote all of himself to the war. And a heavenly war could last for ages—it was unfair to ask Dean to simply wait for him to finish it._

_“And after Dean dies?”_

_“Of natural causes—I assure you I will have nothing to do with it.”_

_“Of course.” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You are not to use him against me once he is in heaven.”_

_“Castiel, what kind of monster do you take me for? It is strictly forbidden—”_

_“As if our father’s law would stop you.”_

_The archangel seemed to grit his teeth, but Castiel was sure it was his imagination. “I am following father’s law.” There was a silence as the two agreed to disagree for now. “I will not harm your human—now or in heaven.”_

_“I want a contract.” Castiel stated it simply._

_“This is not a demon deal.” The archangel looked utterly insulted._

_“It is near enough. I want one.”_

_The archangel sighed. “Fine.” He waved his hand in front of the angel as glowing Enochian writings briefly appeared onto Jimmy’s skin. “Now you.”_

_Castiel mimicked the motion and the binding words glowed even more brightly against the dark skin of Raphael’s vessel._

_Raphael smiled. “So it is. Enjoy your time with your human. I suggest you prepare for the coming war.”_

_The younger angel simply raised an eyebrow._

 

 

They had moved the party outside when there came a distinctive knock and clearing of a feminine throat at the door. Dean had only barely managed to pull away from the red-head. It felt like he was on fire, and nothing could cool him but drinking in the taller man before him.

Patrick however, paled as soon as he had his wits about him. “No…”

Dean chuckled, “Come on Patty, let’s take it out back.”

All he could see was eyes, brows, and freckles; the dude was so pale. “This is _not_ what is supposed to happen. Not at all.”

Dean shrugged, then pulled open the door after unlocking it. He gripped Patrick’s wrist tight as he hauled him out of the restroom and towards the backdoor. He was pretty sure he let out a fairly slurred “sorry ma’am” to the waitress who had interrupted them.

The other hunter was so stunned, he’d allowed himself to get completely pulled from the establishment and into the back alley. Before he was fully aware of where he was, Dean had him shoved against the cool brick wall, his tongue down his throat.

Patrick pushed against Dean with a lot more strength than he’d expected, but Dean was nothing if not iron-willed. He pushed back against the taller man and gripped him by the hair, which caused a soft cry from the red-head. Dean felt the shiver of arousal rush down his friend’s body.

The breath came out with a hitch as lips parted for just a moment. Patrick panted against the corner of Dean’s mouth. “I shouldn’t…not…” his mouth was suddenly full of Winchester tongue, and Dean idly wondered why the redhead was still fucking _talking._

“The red worn lips pulled back. “Not yet…”

“Yet?” Dean asked as he pressed forward, his knee parting the taller man’s legs.

The Irishman whined as he felt the front of their jeans slide against each other. “Oh Father.” There was a gasp. “I’ve missed you.” Dean’s mouth once again met Patrick’s and he felt the grainy brush of stubble against his chin.

“Missed me? Wh-what?” He stammered into the other hunter’s mouth. His brain was way too sloshed to comprehend why Patrick would have missed him.

Or why his dad would care.

There was a flutter behind him and he vaguely wondered if there were birds behind the bar.

“Dean,” a rough voice interrupted. Dean felt himself move back from the taller man and disentangle their limbs. Something about the voice made him loose all interest in the man in front of him. He turned to see Castiel standing next to a dumpster.

That’s when Dean’s stomach bottomed out with overwhelming guilt. He was drunk, and upset, and he and Cas weren’t quite a thing _yet_. But he’d never cheated in his adult life. Dean bent and promptly vomited onto the brick wall.

Patrick stepped back and seemed to notice Castiel for the first time. He licked the excess moisture from his lips, then inclined his head slowly.

“Castiel.”

Castiel’s stance was that of a soldier prepared to fight. His head was dipped, his shoulders squared, and his feet apart. Dean noticed his hand playing with the hem of its sleeve, probably toying with the idea of exposing his angel blade.

“Brother,” his coarse voice fell out as if dragged over glass and rock. “Which are you?”

Patrick seemed to take a step back and put his hands up. “Castiel, believe me when I say I have no desire to fight you—”

“Impressive wards, brother.” The angel inclined his head to the side and Dean heard a definite _crack_ from his neck. “Hiding from me? Averting my attempts to see your name…I will find you out.” The blue eyes flashed white hot light. “I _will_ prevent you from marking him.”

“Cas…” Dean was suddenly very afraid. Were he sober, he probably wouldn’t be. But he was vulnerable now. He glanced to Patrick—or rather the angel that was probably in a man _named_ Patrick Moore, and then back to his friend. He hadn’t known the guy long, but he doubted he deserved to die for marking him. Maybe they could negotiate…

“Castiel,” the hunter/angel interrupted Dean’s sluggish thoughts. “I truly do not wish to fight you.” The hazel eyes were wide as he took a step back. “I didn’t mean to—I couldn’t help myself. I missed him so—”

Suddenly Castiel had his blade in hand and Dean heard a ringing sound as the next words flew from his mouth.

“He was never yours to claim!” Dean felt his ears pop and a trickle of warmth flowing. There was so much pain he fell to the ground to one knee and held his damaged head. He could still hear Cas’s voice, though it came through a reverb in his chest rather than his ears.

“I had guardianship of him. I fought through hell for _ages_ to raise him; to save him. You had no claim to him, not even a friendship with him. Dean Winchester has already chosen his angel!”

The hunter noticed Patrick was now armed with his very own angel blade, but in a defensive stance. “No, Castiel. You do not want to do this…”

“Oh I think I do.” The dark-haired angel spoke with a rolling growl as he flipped his blade in his grasp. “If you die, the mark is null and void.”

Patrick’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull with how wide they were. His eyebrows were very nearly in his hairline.

“Cas, no…” The red-haired angel breathed.

The angel of Thursday lifted his blade and was across the alley in less than the blink of an eye. The impact of the two angel bodies colliding was earth shattering. Literally the ground rumbled and glass broke out of the wall of the bar facing the alley.

Dean stood up against the vibrations under his feet and watched the fastest battle he had ever witnessed. Castiel was attacking like a rabid pit-bull; lunging at the taller form with all he had. Patrick did little other than defend himself—Dean wasn’t sure if he was holding back for Cas’s benefit or for possible mercy. He was measured and careful not to attack with his blade, but instead used it to deflect incoming attacks. Cas was a soldier used to fighting with a blade, which he wheeled with righteous fury, but it was also personal. Dean watched as Cas’s fighting style turned from formal and efficient to angry and savage. He never thought he’d ever see an angel fight dirty, but very soon Castiel bared his teeth at Patrick, then clamped his hand around the other angel’s hair. The redhead looked shocked, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. He pulled back quickly out of instinct, but Castiel suddenly slammed his head into the brick wall behind and tore out a large clump of hair as he pulled back.

Patrick screamed and Dean was running at the two celestial beings before he had enough time to think it over. Suddenly Castiel had Patrick pinned to the brick wall of the building, one elbow pressed to the angel’s throat, and the other pulled back with his blade above his head pointed at the other angel’s temple. The dark-haired angel growled at the prone form in front of him.

That was when Dean managed to touch his friend’s arm. “Don’t Cas. Didn’t you hear what he called you?”

The angel seemed to take a moment to think it over. He blinked, then cautiously turned his gaze on the human, keeping the other angel in his peripheral. “Castiel. My name. I have no wards to hide my identity from my brothers, unlike him.” He looked back to Patrick and snarled. “What of it?”

Patrick’s eye flicked back and forth between his attacker and the human he’d been kissing only moments before. Dean licked his dry lips. Unsure of what he hoped to accomplish from this.

“Dude.” Dean spoke. “He called you ‘Cas’ like Sam and me.”

Castiel held his position for another three minutes and fourteen seconds. Dean knew because he counted, all the while looking for some indication from either angel that the fight might end. Castiel didn’t even seem to breathe as he processed the information, then decided what his actions would be. Slowly, he lowered his arm from the other angel’s neck, but he did not lower his blade. He took half a step back. Patrick slowly relaxed into a more comfortable standing position as Castiel scrutinized him.

Castiel was the first to speak. His voice came out more curious and perhaps a little wounded, rather than aggressive as it had been. “Who are you to me?”

Patrick seemed to be startled by that question. Probably because it didn’t necessarily demand an identity, but a relationship. “I am…a friend.”

Cas pressed closer with his blade, nearly touching it to the angel’s skin. Dean had to give the redhead credit though, because he didn’t flinch.

“ _Why_ do you hide yourself from me?”

“It…” Patrick seemed to trail off as he glanced over to Dean. He recovered quickly. “It is complicated.”

Both Dean and Castiel let out a huff. Despite the situation, the corner of Patrick’s mouth twitched.

“It is your mark on Dean.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Patrick breathed.

Castiel tilted his head and studied his brother one last time. “I will not kill you. I feel the death of every one of my brothers, and I do not wish to add to that pain without need. You do not present a danger to me or Dean, so I will not fight you.” He lowered his blade and stepped back.

Dean wanted to let out the breath he’d been holding, but Cas spoke before he could.

“However,” Patrick’s eyes darted to Castiel’s. “I _will_ prevent you from marking Dean.”

Panic seemed to flash through the hazel eyes. “No, please…”

“Dean has the right to choose who he wants.” Castiel was firm on this.

Patrick’s eyes darted to Dean’s with pleading in them. He looked back to Castiel. “I agree, but you don’t understand—”

“It was never your decision to make.” The growl was returning to the angel’s voice. Castiel moved to Dean’s side, and the hunter recognized the signs that Cas was going to be poofing them away ASAP.

Patrick looked panicked. “Castiel, please. You cannot do this. Please just listen for a moment—”

And then they were gone.

 


	21. The End at the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this is so late. My computer died and I had to purchase a new one, then move over my files before I could really get back into this. The good news is that chapter 22 is coming very soon, and I am not dead. This fic is not dead. In fact I have begun writing little short spin offs about Dean and Castiel's future. Yay, huh?

Patrick’s voice and the alley were gone, and replaced by the kitchen of the beach house. Dean’s stomach also flipped as he recalled what poofing did to his guts.

“Oh fuck, man.” He leaned over, supporting himself on his knees. At least his hearing was no longer fuzzy, and he had no pain in his ears. There were advantages to hanging out with an angel.

“Does he know where we are staying?” Castiel was circling the room, making new wards and enforcing those that already existed.

Dean gulped down some air, then straightened up slowly. “Uh…not specifically, but it wouldn’t take a genius. I told him about my baby, and she’s parked just outside.”

Castiel let out a string of words Dean did not recognize and continued his work. “Well, we cannot leave so we will simply have to fortify this house best we can and work quickly. We know the year, so we should be able to hurry. Once we find the right moment in time, I will prevent him from marking you. With your permission I will mark you myself then to keep anything like this from happening again.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, that sounds like the best call.” He walked over to the door and slipped off his boots, still reeling a bit from the travel and the booze, though he was pretty sure Cas had removed some of the effects. He was feeling a hangover coming.

“Hey Cas…”

“Yes?” The angel was writing with his blood on one of the windows.

Dean watched the nimble fingers as the man dug another nasty gash into his own arm, then used the blood as ink. “Sure seemed like Patrick knew me. Said he missed me.”

“And?”

“Well,” Dean shuffled over to the couch and fell across it with a groan. He still didn’t feel like his brain was functioning fully. “So…he knows me but I don’t know him.”

Castiel strode across the room to another window to modify a ward. “He is most likely someone you know in your future. “

“Then why is he here? I mean now.”

Castiel shrugged, but didn’t look at Dean. “I do not know, Dean. Maybe to prevent us from reversing the marking process.”

Dean nodded, then crossed his feet on the couch. He looked down at his toes and slowly wiggled them to test his coordination. It was a bit…lacking.

“He said his partner died recently, Cas.”

“A hunting partner?”

Dean rolled his eyes, then laid his head back against a throw pillow. “No Dude. Partner as in life partner. Lover. Husband. Whatever.”

“I see.” Castiel finished his work on the symbol, then crossed to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. He toweled off his hands, then sat down slowly in the chair beside the couch. He sighed.

“If Patrick marked me, wouldn’t that make me his partner?”

Castiel seemed to ignore this for a moment, then suddenly sat forward in his chair and glared at Dean. “Yes.”

“Dude. He said I died in my sleep. Peaceful. I was thinking he meant it was sudden like if a younger man died like that, but I was…probably old.”

Cas tilted his head at him. “You always thought you would die young?”

“Well, yeah.” Dean turned around on the sofa so that he was sitting upright.

Castiel clasped his hands in front of him. “I am sure…he kept you safe.” There was an edge to his voice as he clenched his jaw around the words.

Dean nodded. “Cas, that means I was with him for probably a long time. I doubt he could have forced that on me.”

The angel seemed to mull this over. “You mean that you probably wanted to be with him?”

“Well, not now, but it makes you wonder.”

His friend sat for a small time, thinking to himself. He looked up at his human with eyes that seemed to bore into his very soul. Seemed to plead with him over _something_ , but Dean was unsure what.

“Dean, what do you want _now_?”

“I…” The hunter decided to think this over as best he could while still somewhat drunk. He didn’t want Patrick. That was a fluke in the alley. He was drunk and horny, and had been thinking about Cas. And boy was that a whole new set of weird he needed to sift through. Patrick was cool, but he barely knew him. And he wasn’t really _attracted_ to Patrick the way he was Cas. He didn’t think.

The hunter looked up to his friend. He _was_ attracted to him. He was attracted to Castiel, not Jimmy. When he thought how Jimmy looked, he was not turned on. When he thought of how Cas looked, he was turned on. It was something about Castiel—an angel who Dean would never be able to see beyond using another person’s body. Something clicked then as Dean thought he’d probably be turned on by Castiel no matter what body he inhabited. He did like the way he looked now, though. Maybe he was just attached to it, or maybe he was into a dude who was a good-looking brunette with killer eyes. Seemed to be his type with women.

Castiel was the person he wanted to spend time with. He was the person he wanted to share experiences with. Why else would he have insisted Castiel bring him to this beach that he’d always wanted to see? Why not Sammy? Because he wanted to experience new things with Castiel before anyone else. Somewhere along the way, the angel had become the person who listened to his stories. And Dean wanted to tell him his stories. He wanted to tell Cas about his mother, about his first sexual experience with that blonde in tenth grade, and Dean even wanted to tell Cas about his time in Hell. He wanted to share it all with Cas, and he wanted the angel to do the same. What did Cas think when man was first walking on two legs? Where was he during Pompeii?

He _loved_ Castiel. And, though Dean was still pretty sure he wasn’t gay, he figured he had just enough flexibility to accommodate Castiel into his fantasies.

Dean licked his lips and met his angel’s eyes. “I want you, Cas. I think I’ll probably want you as long as I live.”

 

 

_There was something to be said for choosing an angel for your lifemate. For one; that heart attack he probably had coming from all the bacon cheeseburgers? Never showed. Seemed that his angel had been keeping him cleared out for years. That alone was pretty awesome. And his liver? By this age, Dean should have done some serious damage—even though in his forties he’d cut back on his drinking significantly—he’d been a full blown alcoholic before he’d learned moderation. And yes kids, it was moderation this ‘holic chose. None of that abstinence bullshit for him. That crap was for bitches like Sammy._

_Speaking of Sammy, there was another benefit to fucking an angel. Turns out that whole long-lived charm extended to his family too. Or maybe Sam was just a healthy fucker due to hard work on his part. Dean wasn’t sure, but considering they’d both reached the three digit age group and were still alive and healthy—all things considered—he figured there was some miracle working going on._

_Dean considered all these aspects of his age as he lay awake that night next to the person he’d just spent most of his life with. Cas was still young looking—well Jimmy’s body was still in his thrities. When they first started their life together, it was Castiel who appeared older. Now Dean looked like he could be his lover’s grandfather. He looked like his_ children’s _grandfather. Considering how little that bothered him, Dean figured he had truly grown to be an old man._

_The angel—who’d learned to sleep for Dean’s benefit years ago—slipped his hand into Dean’s palm. He closed his gnarled digits over his friend’s. Because they were still very good friends, even after all this time. He thought about how for a long time Cas managed to keep Dean from looking his age for his own comfort. He didn’t like being out with his partner in public and being confused for his father, then grandfather. Castiel didn’t do that anymore. Part of it was because there was only so long you could keep human skin elastic without being immortal, and his angel was lacking in that ability. The other part was because Dean simply no longer cared. Let the world think Cas was his family. It wasn’t far from the truth. When they made it clear they were not family, and people stared at the old creeper with the younger boy toy, Dean let them stare. He didn’t care._

_He didn’t care because he’d had more years of goodness than he could have ever dreamed of. The length and quality of his life was entirely due to his angel. He rolled onto his side with a grunt—that’s how you knew you were old, you hurt in bed—and turned his face in to rest with his breath over Castiel’s neck. They’d had a good, long life together, and Dean felt a sort of peace as he watched Tessa reach her hand out to him with a smile. He wondered how many times she had reaped his soul. He wondered if they would get a chance to talk again. After all, how often did she get a few minutes with an old friend?_

_He kissed the side of his friend’s neck as he slept, somewhat glad the man was not awake for his own sake. Dean was surprisingly alright with it, but he was pretty sure Castiel would try to hold Tessa at bay. There was no point in that. He would get to see him in heaven soon anyway. That’s what Cas had always said anyway. After the war._

_“Are you ready, Dean?” Tessa stepped closer, her arm still outstretched._

_He rose from the bed, knowing he was no longer in his body because he wasn’t stiff. The age spots on his hands melted away, and he was pretty sure he was back in his thirties again. Not that it mattered—he was whatever he wanted to be._

_He took her hand in his, and when they touched it was as if he’d been missing her through his whole life. How often_ had _he gone against his nature and cheated death? The warmth from Tessa was stunning._

_“Yeah, I’m ready.” He took a step closer so that their arms hung between them, anchored together. “Tell your boss man that the place down the street makes some awesome pickle chips.”_

_Her smile was genuine—she may have always been all about the bottom line, but she was never cold. Dean never doubted she cared. “I will be sure to pass that along. Now, close your eyes.”_

The angel sat stone-still as he took in the news. He felt that a large portion of his long life was being summed up through this moment. The moment of Dean’s confession. His human was drunk, but Castiel could see that he spoke truthfully. It was the moment Castiel had waited for the longest—he just hadn’t known it until recently.

“Cas?” Dean waved a hand in front of the angel’s face. “Dude, kinda confessing my undying devotion here.”

Somewhere along the angel’s thoughts, Dean had gotten up from his place on the couch and come to him. Castiel looked up to him then, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Dean?”

“Yeah Cas?” The hunter seemed to bend a bit more to look him in the eye.

The angel swallowed. “Dean, I would like very much to kiss you now.”


	22. The Space Between

The blue eyes seemed to violate him. “Fuck it,” the angel declared and suddenly advanced.

Dean began to back-pedal, unwilling to allow his friend the pain for something so minimal. “Cas, seriously don—“

But then full lips were on his, and all Dean could do was think how _warm_ they were. He felt his hands shake a little as he brought them up to cup the face attached to his own, unable to deny Cas this. His fingers spread through the soft, thick hair as he unconsciously deepened the kiss by opening his mouth. Cas’s tongue was instantly dipping into his mouth to caress just the tip of Dean’s. It wasn’t porno tongue. It was light and teasing, and incredibly intimate. It was as if they were holding hands. Dean felt himself shiver at the thought, and how oddly sexy it was. His grip on the dark hair tightened, and he finally tilted his head to the side so that he could gain better access to that mouth. There was a surprised grunt from Castiel as Dean took action. The angel seemed to stiffen under his touch, and Dean instantly _stopped_.

“Cas!” Dean pulled away, chest heaving in excitement. “What the fuck, man?” His voice raised into a higher octave. “You could have really hurt yourself!”

Castiel looked back at Dean with a bewildered and somewhat intoxicated expression. His lips were red and swollen, his cheeks flushed, and his hair even more a mess than usual. It was an excellent sex look. Dean saw no sign of strain let alone the searing torture from before.

The human stopped, seemingly frozen in place, then looked his angel over. “Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

The man blinked, then licked his blood-filled lips. “Why aren’t you in pain?”

Castiel glanced down to his hands that were just recently all over Dean. “Hm.”

He gawked at his angel. “What do ya mean ‘hm’? You mean you didn’t do that on purpose?”

“Of course I did it on purpose, Dean.” The blue eyes rolled to the side in exasperation. “It is not as if I fell onto you, uncontrollably thrusting Jimmy’s tongue into your mouth—”

Dean held up a hand as he winced. “Nix the Jimmy talk. I know you got his permission, but it still feels pretty shady to me and I just _don’t_ need to think about that along with how I am corrupting an angel of The Lord.” He shook his head. “And anyway, I meant like…poofed away the mark’s pain trigger.” Dean waved his hand in the air, at a loss for description. “Or something.”

The angel shook his head. “I have no such ability.”

“Then why didn’t it activate?”

A grin appeared on Cas’s face that could only be described as shit-eating. Dean stared at him, slightly in awe of an expression on such a face.

“Does it really matter?” Castiel ran a finger over Dean’s knuckles. “I get to touch you. I cannot honestly say that I am very preoccupied with the reasoning why. I am simply happy it is so.”

Dean grumbled, but wrapped his hand over his friend’s. “Fucking content-to-be-blind angels.”

“Dean.” Castiel interrupted. “Why are you still over _there_?”

“Oh right.” Dean guessed Cas had a point. They couldn’t fix anything right now and his policy had always been “when in doubt; make out!” Why change that now?

Dean stepped in closer to his angel, slotted his feet between the other’s, and his hands on his elbows. He closed his eyes with a sigh, then pressed his forehead to Cas’s. They were so close in height is was very comfortable, and they both leaned into it as if surrounded by a hot bath.

The two breathed into each other’s mouths, softly rocking, barely touching with the in and out pull of their chests. Castiel’s fingers drifted once again over Dean’s knuckles until the two hands were laced together loosely. It was just _hand holding_ , but it was one of the most intimate touches Dean had experienced in his life. He felt the angel’s free hand weave into his coat and run gently down his side. It dove under the hem of his shirt to brush soft touches against his skin. He sighed and pressed his face forward to once again meet Cas’s mouth.

He returned the kiss almost demurely at first, as if reverently appreciating his first experience. _His first_. Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he deepened the kiss significantly by slipping his bottom lip between the angel’s. Cas parted his mouth for his human as if he was a drink on a parched throat. Dean had never been into the whole virgin kink. He’d thought of himself as a very straightforward guy, and so had never wanted the possibility for misinterpretation. He’d hate the thought of an inexperienced woman falling for him simply because she didn’t understand his intentions. And it just seemed to Dean that the potential for such screw ups skyrocketed with virgins.

But he wasn’t leaving after tonight, and Cas wasn’t naïve, regardless of sexual experience. And there was something about that—millions of years of life and Castiel had never let anyone else get under his skin. But Dean. Dean got to him. Pride surge through him, and he refused to acknowledge the small whisper of guilt in the back of his mind. Not for _corrupting_ an angel, but for taking one of the world’s greatest defenders for himself. Of all the good people—all the amazingly purposefully good creatures in this world—Cas had to be one of the top. Surely Castiel—the angel to fight for humans—should have better.

“Stop thinking.” Castiel murmured into his mouth.

“Done.” Dean sealed off the breath from his friend’s lips.

With his hands moving to the angel’s back and shoulders, the hunter experimentally rubbed himself against the front of Castiel’s pants. There was a hitching sound from his partner before Dean felt warm hands slip out from under his shirt, and awkwardly into the front of his pants. He shivered against the pads of Cas’s fingers tickling against his hipbone, then Dean swiped his left palm down the flat stomach in front of him to rest his thumb against the mirror part of the angel. Apparently his pants road lower than Dean’s, the hunter realized as a little curl brushed against his thumb. His groin tightened at the thought—and wasn’t that interesting that feeling a dude’s short and curlies would make him _more hard._ He gripped tighter, pushing his fingers into the flesh.

There was grinding—a lot of it. Kinda like two teenagers who agreed not to “do it,” but wanted to badly. He felt his angel growing against him, and the fact that he had such a powerful creature and amazing person humping against him like a puppy—well, it had Dean light headed enough to see stars. He groaned deeply as he buried his face into Castiel’s neck.

“Cas,” Dean breathed as if his lungs were on fire. “I’m sorry about the alley.”

“I am sorry about keeping my plans for Raphael from you.”

“That mean you’ll tell me?”

“I promise to tell you. Just…later.” And wasn’t it just fucking _sinful_ how the angel licked his lips and looked at him with dilated pupils.

Dean made a noise that he would admit sounded an awful lot like Scooby-Doo getting a Scooby-Snack. He shoved Cas—who was kind enough to drop for his benefit—onto the couch, and practically jumped the heavenly being. Without fail or delay, the angel arched up into the embrace, kissing Dean fiercely. The heavier body pressed down on the angel, and Dean suddenly felt like he was all paws as he tried to push Castiel’s shirt up to his chin.

The angel let out a huff, which Dean had learned long ago was a solid laugh from him. Then the world turned, and Dean was on his back under his friend, reminded once again how powerful Cas was. He thrust up against his hip, showing the angel how interested he was.

Castiel sat back on Dean’s lap, and pulled his shirt over his head. Dean figured he must have know the very act of stripping would be sexy to the hunter, so he chose not to banish the clothing. Again, Dean pressed his pelvis to the angel to show his appreciation. Hands reached before he knew what he was doing, and soon he was touching male skin. He didn’t know what Jimmy had done to stay in shape—running and yoga or something light like that he figured—but the man looked a bit like a martial artist. Slim, wiry muscle covered Castiel, and looked fucking amazing next to Dean’s smoother, bulkier build. Dean looked down at his naked chest.

“Dude,” he cocked an eyebrow at the man over him. “When did I lose my shirt?”

Castiel grinned. “I assumed you wanted to see me take my clothes off.”

Dean nodded approvingly.

“I however, did not have the patience when it came to seeing you shirtless. It is on your bed.”

The hunter surged up to claim Castiel’s mouth, and their groins curled together. The gasp and subsequent moan from the angel was electrifying to Dean. Did this mean that Cas would be a vocal lover? He panted heavily against his friend’s tongue at the thought. When he palmed the bulge in the front of his friend’s jeans, Cas broke off the kiss to gasp.

“Dean!” The voice came out rough and beaten.

“Fuck,” he groaned in reaction. His hands found Cas’s fly and fumbled trying to work it.

There was a grunt as the thin fingers attempted to help him. “I-I can—”

He nodded quickly and licked his lips. “Yeah, do it Cas.”

Suddenly they were naked, and the surprising touch of skin caused a flood to Dean’s prick. He felt lightheaded—no oxygen to the brain—and started laughing.  “Oh my God, our dicks are touching.” His voice broke high and he giggled idiotically.

There was nothing from the man sitting in his lap, and after Dean calmed enough from the shock of _oh shit first real gay stuff_ , he opened his eyes to look up to his new lover. There was a statue above him. Probably Adonis, but seriously it was as if Cas couldn’t fucking breathe. He looked like he was made of tension, like a bowstring drawn tight.

“Cas?” Dean offered. “Hey Cas.” He reached his hands to the angel’s hips—soft skin—and shook him slowly. The motion turned sexual quickly as he massaged his hands into the flesh beneath them, and rocked his pelvis against Castiel’s.  

Dean stretched slowly as he pushed upward, lifting them both, but still rubbing the hips on him. “Come on man.”

The dark-haired man’s mouth fell open slowly, and he tilted his head lower to finally match eyes with the human’s. “I-I’m sorry Dean.” His breath sounded like it was just falling out of his mouth. “There was—I felt…” his head hung forward in what looked like exhaustion.

“Cas?” Dean’s brows drew together, his eyes widening. He massaged the skin under his palms in soothing circles.

“Your soul, Dean. I felt it brush my grace.”

The hunter blinked. “But…you didn’t try to.”

A grin broke out over the angel’s face. “No I didn’t. We are simply that close right now. Barely separated by the skin.”

He couldn’t help but mirror Cas’s expression at that. “Cool.”

“It is amazing!” His partner panted over top of him, placing both hands onto Dean’s stomach to hold his balance.

Cas was pink in the cheeks and his hair fell into his eyes. Dean felt the familiar jolt run from his brain to his dick at that moment.

“Cool,” he repeated breathy. “Come ‘ere,” and guided the hips down. Castiel’s long legs folded together until the knees rested on the couch, between his. Here, the angel was less prone and could thrust forward to meet Dean, which Cas did almost as soon as he found purchase.

“Oh yeah.” Dean smiled as he drawled. “So much better.”

“I concur,” Castiel rasped as he rode the hunter into the couch cushion. His fingers trailed around the human’s waist to grip tightly to his back. He could feel the light scratches of fingernails biting into his back, and Dean arched into a spike of arousal. He hadn’t even seen Cas’s cock yet, but he felt it drag backward along his own as his partner pulled away. When he pushed forward, Dean could feel the soft warmth of his sack against the base of his dick.

He panted into Castiel’s hair, absently biting at his earlobe. “More,” he murmured, keeping time with Cas so they slid back together perfectly. The friction was great, he could feel every movement of his friend. Hips sliding against each other, stomachs beginning to clap together lightly as they picked up the pace, lips brushing together, tongues occasionally meeting. Hell, Dean even liked Cas’s stubbled jaw scratching against his chin. The man moved like a force, torso flexing and moving like liquid over his body.

Castiel released his mouth, but puffed into it without restraint. “Dean…”

Dean closed his eyes and felt the world slowly dipping away as he got closer at the sound of his name from that voice. “Cas,” he returned the favor.

“No. D-Dean I’m going to…”

“Hm?” He opened his eyes and saw Castiel’s lust shocked expression. _Going to…?_

“Oh! Oh okay.” Dean laughed. “That’s okay, man. Just let me…” His voice trailed off as he wormed his hand between their still barely thrusting groins.

“What are you—ah!” Cas threw his head back as Dean wrapped a rough hand around both of their cocks and stroked.

Dean groaned, pressing his face into the angel’s neck. He pulled back with his hand and felt Cas give out. Warmth pulsed through his shaft, then a hot spurt caught in his hand. He felt Cas fucking _whine_ as he pumped him through his orgasm with spunk slick palm. The hitching breaths told him more about the angel’s appreciation than the wetness against his skin. Dry lips ran along his collarbone, as the cresting moan stopped fast.

His head rested on his shoulder as he dealt with the fall, and Dean moved his hand to wrap firmly around himself to follow Cas into relief. He’d never—there was—Castiel was all over him as he fisted his dick. He was soaking into his skin, laying heavily on his chest, and heart thrumming against his. They were there, with each other, and only skin lay between.

Dean pressed his face forward into Cas’s hair, and came between their stomachs with near violent force. It was the single most amazing fuck of his life involving his own hand. He ran his fingers through the dark hair in front of him.

Cas’s voice always sounded ruined from sex, but now it was plain hoarse. “That was…”

“Amazing?”

“Yes.” Cas nodded into his shoulder. “Indeed. Surprising.”

“First orgasm?”

“First orgasm, first touch, first everything.”

“Never even touched yourself before?”

He lifted his head just enough so that his eyes met Dean’s. “I’ve thought about it a few times, especially recently, but no. I wanted a human experience with another human. With _my_ human.”

“Makes sense.”

“Is it alright if I fall asleep?”

He felt his cheeks crinkle around his eyes as he laughed into the thick hair. “Not on top of me.” He grunted as he pushed away from the lighter man. “You’re heavier than you look.”

They managed to get fairly cleaned up before picking a bedroom—Dean wasn’t really sure which one—and crashing onto the covers wrapped in each other. It was a struggle figuring out what limbs went where in the interest of keeping as close as possible, but they soon had the semblance of comfort down. Dean’s hand once again found its way to Cas’s hair, combing his fingers through it gently. After a few minutes of this, Dean spoke.

“Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

The human’s eyes met his angel’s. “Thanks for…giving me this.”

Castiel brushed the back of his knuckles against Dean’s jaw, then let his hand fall between them. He closed his eyes and in a few short minutes, both were asleep. 


	23. Shower Scene

Castiel would have preferred to lay in bed for the remainder of the morning. Dean had so little sleep, and after the night—well even he could feel the human need to relax and enjoy the still settling afterglow. Castiel would have liked to stall the inevitable day, but what he’d ignored last night—a very important bit of information—would not let him sleep. It wasn’t simply that his stomach was still a bit… _crusty_ from the previous evening’s activities. No, uncomfortable as that was, it was hardly the issue forcing him awake this morning. He hadn’t been _hurt_ last night by the mark.

The angel rolled on his left side, coming face to face with a sleeping Winchester. Castiel had seen Dean sleeping before. Many times. He’d been trying to remain respectful of the human’s privacy now that he understood the concept, but when they’d first met the angel simply hadn’t gotten it. At that time, Castiel might spend the evening watching after Dean to learn about him, to make sure he was safe, and to look for any ounce of demonic after effects. He’d put his human back together—he knew he was no demon. But, Cas was always thorough. After all, the better part of their garrison was intended for Dean’s cleansing, but in the end it had only been Castiel. One angel to save a man’s soul. He just had to be certain it had been enough.

Castiel had seen Dean asleep before, but the man so rarely looked at ease even while unconscious. This morning, the hardness of the hunter’s face was replaced with softness. The youthful bone structure and full lips came through, rather than the sun and stress hewn texture of the skin.

Before he realized what he was doing, the angel was reaching a hand out to touch. He pressed the pads of his index and middle fingers to the hunter’s bottom lip. They had kissed last night. Castiel felt his cheeks heat slightly at the thought that they did _much more_ than simply kiss. He’d basically raced through what often amounted to years of human experiences in one evening with Dean Winchester. The angel felt the corner of his mouth pull up crookedly. Balthazar would be immensely proud to hear of it.

Dean began to stir and Cas dropped his hand from the other man’s face, but it was too late. Green eyes cracked open against the morning light and connected with blue.

“Hey,” he croaked.

Castiel couldn’t help it when he felt his mouth break into a full smile. “I am sticky.”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah me too.” Dean rubbed a hand roughly against his stubbled chin. “Shower?” The human’s smile matched the angel’s. “With me?”

Dean Winchester nude with streams of water running down his body? _What was it that woke him again?_

_Oh, the mark._ Castiel ran his eyes over what was visible of the hunter’s form. One shoulder and arm (the other was wrapped under the sheet), torso, one hip, and half a thigh peeking out from the covers. The angel was pretty sure he could take the time for a shower. After all; cleanliness was next to godliness, right?

“Yes please.” Castiel felt Jimmy’s adam’s apple bob as his voice cracked slightly.

The grin from the older Winchester was unmistakable. It may be that Castiel’s day was going to start later than he’d initially intended.

Dean grinned. “Awesome. Come.” He swung out his legs, ignoring his sudden nudity, and stood as soon as his feet hit the floor. The man was out the door and into the shared bathroom before Castiel would have thought him capable after such a sluggish awakening. The angel decided it would simply be better if he appeared in the bathroom.

“Holy fuck Cas!” Dean grabbed his chest as the shower curtain slipped from his fingers. The angel had been _inside_ the shower when he opened it.

“Well no, but you got close last night.”

Dean quieted his panting as he looked up to the small smirk on Castiel’s face. It took him a minute to get the _very bad_ joke the angel had just made. “Cas, that’s terrible.”

The shorter man shrugged as he stepped to the side so that Dean could get in. The human did so, then closed the curtain and turned the shower head away from the two before he started the water. Cas watched Dean’s back as the man turned the knob, then felt for the correct temperature.

“Is this the first time you’ve had a shower?” He flicked the water from his hand as he adjusted the gauge.

The being of celestial intent was distracted by the hunter’s ass. There was no way to deny that. He breathed out through his nose in a sigh, then answered Dean’s question. “I took a few when I was falling before—when it was too difficult to maintain hygiene by essentially being static.”

“Huh?”

“We keep our vessels unaffected by time—so it is like they are in—how do your shows put it?”

Dean found the sweetspot in the water temp, and pointed the stream of water back towards the two men. “Stasis? Like th—Cas!”

“Hm, yes?”

“Are you palming my ass-cheek?”

“I seem to be, yes.”

Dean turned around, blocking Castiel and forcing him to give up touching that part of his anatomy. “Dude, are you horny?”

Castiel simply stared at Dean, but for perhaps the first time it was _not_ into the man’s eyes. “I seem to be, yes.”

Dean let out a small laugh as he reached his hands up to rub along the angel’s upper arms. “Too sexy to ignore huh?” Blue eyes narrowed as they met his. “Hey, nothin’ to be ashamed of. I’m a catch.”

“Indeed,” Castiel deadpanned. “God’s gift to women.”

“And angels apparently.” Dean grinned.

Castiel let out a huff—that laugh that only Dean had really managed to drag from him. Even when hunting Crowely months ago, Dean could make him laugh.

_Crowely_. Castiel felt his stomach tighten and wondered if this was how humans experienced guilt. He seemed to be getting in touch with the physical parts of living as a human.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, man?”

Castiel closed his eyes and licked his lips. “Can we do it again?”

“Uh…” Dean’s gaze seemed to move back and forth between the angel’s eyes once he opened them again. “Sure. Handjobs again…or what?”

“Whatever you want.”

_And wasn’t that hot as fuck?_ Dean swallowed hard at the sudden thought of something involving more penetration—but then pulled back from that quickly as he realized they had _nothing_ to prepare for such things. He needed to do research, or…something. Not to mention lube…

Water was starting to flatten Castiel’s hair against his head, and Dean had never seen him like that before. The ocean was different—it was sunny and active. The light was soft and white. His hair was black when wet, and it was a stark contrast to the white acrylic shower wall behind him. His unevenly tanned skin was a soft tone against both the dark hair and white wall, and Dean once again wondered what Jimmy had done to stay fit. It looked like the man had been shirtless in the sun.

“Really tan skin.” He didn’t know he’d said it until it was too late.

“Haiti.” Castiel breathed harshly. “He’d completed a mission trip to Haiti right before I took—”

Dean pressed a kiss to the angel’s lips, then pulled back with the most intense gaze. “I don’t want to talk about him, okay?”

Castiel nodded, then moved forward. When their chests were brushing against the other’s with each breath, the angel licked his lips. “This okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean answered immediately. Little drops of water from the indirect spray were falling from his Cas’s bangs onto the his eyelashes as the wide blue eyes watched him as if he might run off. “You look amazing in the shower.”

“So do you.” Cas’s eyes followed a trail of water down Dean’s stomach as it ran into his pubic hair.

They were so close, they were breathing each other’s air.

Castiel cleared his throat. “Can we—”

“Could I suck you off, Cas?”

“I—” It took the angel a moment to recall what that particular slang term meant (thank you pizza man), but when he did, he slipped. He fell back against the far shower wall with a thump, then slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his knees bent and legs splayed. 

Dean was kneeling beside him instantly. “Hey! You okay?”

“Yes.” The angel seemed to gasp out.

“You sure? It looked like you bumped your shoulder pretty good—”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant that yes; I want you to suck me off.”

Dean froze in place with his left arm outstretched, palm flat against the wall beside Castiel’s head bracing himself from slipping. His right hand had fallen onto the man’s shoulder in concern. One knee was planted on the tub floor between Cas’s legs, the other bent with his foot beside the angel’s hip. They were both naked, faces inches apart, with Dean like a cage over him. Castiel was suddenly very aware of the intimacy of the space—just after his human had offered to deep throat him.

The hunter swallowed as he stared at the angel’s face. His voice cracked. “Kay…”

Castiel rested his head back against the shower wall, and felt the water running through his fingers along the tub floor. “Of course, only if you would still want to.”

“Yeah,” Dean answered quickly. “Yeah, just…uh…let me figure this out.”

“Of course,” the angel breathed as Dean’s hand slipped from his shoulder to thread their fingers together.

The hunter studied the semi tangled positions of their legs, then huffed as he settled his second knee to the floor. He bumped against Cas’s thigh as he tried to wiggle in between his splayed legs in the small space. The angel’s appendages were spread wider apart as Dean nudged between, trying to find his place.

“Okay. Let me scoot—okay.” Castiel was surprised when the man leaned in for a quick kiss on the chin before lowering himself.

Dean’s back arched as he bent, his hand slipping up to the angel’s hip. Warm-toned skin stretched before Cas, water pelting the man’s spine, drops trailing down his sides and back. A few small streams ran back and down the seam of his ass. Castiel gripped Dean’s fingers as the warm water continued the tease as if it were a living thing.

“You okay?”Dean’s face tilted up to meet his eyes.

“Yes—fine.”

The man’s lip quirked in a half smile, then he bent once more. Cas felt a soft puff of hot air against his hip, then the feel of full lips. He wondered if he shouldn’t groan—if he should hold back so as to keep the situation less strange for Dean. When the lips parted and he felt a slick tongue press against the skin, then drag over to the base of his penis, he didn’t have a choice in the matter. The angel closed his eyes and moaned like a whore as the hunter wrapped lips around his painfully stiff member.

He was very glad that Dean didn’t understand Enochian, because if he did he’d be much too proud of rattle of slurs that had just left Cas’s mouth. He would have probably stopped everything he was doing to pat him on the shoulder. The angel hissed as the mouth grew wetter around the head od his sex.

“Uh, warm…” Castiel had _so little_ to say on the matter.

Dean’s back suddenly cracked, and Castiel’s lap was empty. He surprised himself with a slight whine at the loss of touch, but then cleared his throat and watched as Dean stretched stiffly.

His eyes were closed as he sat back on his heels, then cracked his neck. “Anyway we could do this with you standing, Cas?”

He looked around and tried to assess his body situation. “No.”

“Weak legs?”

“Yes. But, uh if it is too much trouble—”

“Naw, its fine.” Dean shifted back, then moved forward. Placing his face between Cas’s legs, he pushed his torso to the tub floor, then propped his upper body up onto his elbows on the angel’s upper thighs. Placing his hands on either side of Castiel’s hips, he bobbed his head down again.

He felt the breath against his erection as Dean murmured “yeah that works,” then bit his lip as he was suddenly engulfed in warm pressure.

There was a slight crack against the shower wall as his head slammed against it, but he barely noticed because now Dean was _sucking_. The body went rubbery, the wall the only thing holding him up at this point. Castiel wondered at the loss of control and sighed as he felt Dean pull back to run his tongue along the underside of his head. With a shaky hand, Cas brought his fingers to his human’s head, combing his digits into the man’s hair. Dean flicked his tongue down Castiel’s shaft, then once more swallowed him down to the base. Cas scraped his nails over Dean’s scalp as he felt the tip of himself hit the back of his friend’s throat. He groaned at the involuntary clenching action.

Dean came off with a heavy cough, and wiped his mouth as he made eye contact with Cas. Dean’s hair was drenched, rivets of water soaking it and it still stuck up in all directions. The angel’s hand was still placed on the man’s head, and he rubbed his palm against the slick wiry cut. Small prickly sensations feathered against his hand. Dean’s eyes were wide—his brows nearly in his hairline—and his lips were puffy and red.

Castiel licked his lips, then sat forward to press them to Dean’s. He pulled back slightly in surprise—probably thought it was vulgar, but the angel tasted nothing but Dean—and stalled when Cas pressed his tongue through his lips, taking all he could. They swallowed each other in, and he wondered if one day he could just achieve orgasm through kissing Dean. Logically, he knew the kiss was filled with supplemental testosterone, and he could clearly feel himself reacting to the hormone. However, what he loved most was Dean’s rough hands cupping his jaw and neck as they pulled in for deeper contact. The hunter’s calloused skin scraped over his stubble, bringing his thumbs to the edges of Cas’s mouth.

Dean pulled back panting lightly, sex full and at attention. Castiel grinned stupidly at the man. “Are we done?”

“Hadn’t planned on it.” Cas wondered if the man had bruised his throat, since his vocal cords seemed to be producing even more gruff sounds than usual. “You just decided to become a woman and play kissy face, while I’m trying to complete every man’s fantasy.”

Cas’s smile stretched until he produced what Jimmy used to consider his goofball grin. Amelia had loved it. “You have many skills that are distracting. You only have yourself to blame.”

“Sure sure. Were you close?” Dean asked.

“Close?”

Dean stared him down. “Cas.”

“Oh!” Castiel huffed out a small laugh. “Yes, I think I was.”

“Well, then come on. I’m losing wood here.” He crawled down to his previous position, then ran his fingers through Castiel’s pubic hair.

“What are you doing?” The angel cocked his head to the side.

“Hmm,” Dean stroked the black curls. “Nothing. Just not used to that much hair. It’s cool though—soft.”

“Dean? I am losing my wood.” Castiel raised an eyebrow at his partner.

The hunter chuckled as he dipped down. Cas was suddenly much, much less demanding when he felt the wet pressure over his shaft once more. The angel felt himself instinctually wrap his arm over Dean’s shoulders, and grip him tight. He released a tightly held breath as he felt his human’s tongue flick against his urethra. Who knew the physical plane could produce such sensations?

With a groan, the angel curled over Dean, pressing his mouth into the man’s hair. He grit his teeth against the sensation of peaking orgasm—he still wasn’t used to how quickly it seemed to come, and how intense it was that even with his angelic powers, he doubted he could fully control it. As that peak fell off slightly, giving him a short reprieve to gasp out Dean’s name, his penis suddenly felt all the more sensitive. His foreskin was nonexistent with how stretched the skin was over his pumping blood, but he still felt like all the nerves mid-shaft up exploded into a sensitive mess. And _fuck_ , but he was thinking of it as _his_ penis, his shaft, and his body. He raked his fingers along the hunter’s back and groaned low and forceful in his throat.

With his partner leaning on him like this, Dean was really unable to bob his head up and down for full friction. He improvised and brought one hand up to pump Cas’s dick as he sucked around his head. The angel was panting heavily on top of him, his breaths heating his neck, and his hands grabbing at his skin through the falling water. His voice was vibrating through Dean, and thank God the angel was a moaner. On his most controlled days, Cas’s voice could get to him, but now exposed and ragged from sex, it was all he could do not to wrap a fist around himself. He would hold off—he had a feeling that Cas would be more than willing to touch him after this.

“Ah!” Cas fell back against the shower wall. He was very close to thrashing, and the angel knew that could potential kill Dean with his head that close to his legs. He couldn’t squeeze his digits into that man’s skin any longer either, he might bruise and bloody him. So, Castiel threw his hands onto his own knees, between which Dean sucked, and felt his head loll back as he allowed himself to expend his strength onto his own body. His mouth fell open, and felt his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow and resisted the urge to thrust upwards.

He felt another peak forming, much like the cresting waves on their first day here, and thought this one was for real. “Uh…” He had difficulty rallying himself enough to form words. “D-Dean?”

The human’s hand on his hip drew him closer, and he bobbed his head frantically over Cas’s lap in response to the angel’s words.

“Ah, Dean?” Cas was interrupted by feeling his balls cupped softly and massaged in time with the suckling. “Dean! I’m going to—ah—stop! I feel like I might…” There was a distinctive pressure sensation around the very tip of his head as he felt the man press his nose into his pubic bone.

“I am going to orgasm, Dean…” he gasped into the steamy air. The pressure around his head suddenly quickened, then moved as if tightening and dragging backward. He was swallowing. Dean was swallowing him in what he knew humans called “deepthroating.”

The knowledge of the act, as much as the feel of it, made him lose it.

He felt it—the rising action within his groin, the stiffening of his pelvis, and the long moan wrenched from his vocal cords. Then light bulbs blew before his eyes even though they were closed. Dean’s hands gripped his hips as if to keep him still—though the man never could. His fingers dug into his vessel’s skin around the slightly protruding iliac crests. Cas felt his entire spine arch, like a drawn bowstring, then suddenly he was boneless, and he flopped back against the wall with hooded eyes. From incredible tightness to the ultimate release—Castiel was hooked.

The angel allowed himself to enjoy the come down slowly, closing is eyes against the bright yellow of the bathroom light. When a shadow blocked the warm light from his eyelids, Cas opened them to look at Dean. The man was pumping into his own hand as he stared at the angel’s relaxed features.

“Dean,” Castiel began, but had to swallow due to dry mouth. “I can do that, Dean.”

The hunter smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, was gonna let you but I can’t…your face. I can’t fuckin’ wait, Cas.”

None-the-less, Castiel reached his shaky hand to run his fingertips over the white knuckled grip Dean had on his own shaft. The human groaned low in his throat as Cas watched the muscles in his shoulders tense like a taunt rope, but the man let go. Castiel wrapped his hand around the pulsing flesh, then pulled up,

“Ah, fuck.” Dean wiggled closer to the other man, so that he was practically in the angel’s lap. Castiel resigned himself to use angelic powers so that he could better grip his boyfriend’s penis while in his after orgasm state of weakness. He nearly rolled his eyes, but stopped himself when Dean bucked into him with a cry.

“Tingly! What the fuck?” But, his moan interrupted his question as his hips thrust upward, into Castiel’s palm. His orgasm seemed to split through him, and he painted semi transparent streaks across the angel’s thigh and lower abdomen. Castiel watched the heat rise into the lightly freckled cheeks with the effort, and felt the small twinge of resurging arousal as the green eyes snapped shut in an expression of rapture. When Dean bit his lip, the angel knew he could go again with the right coaxing.

Cas slid his palm along Dean’s penis as the man had done for him the night before, until the pulsing was done and the hunter pulled away.

“Ah sensitive,” Dean groaned roughly as he moved to stand beneath the shower spray.

Castiel lay on the floor with water spilling onto his lap, washing Dean’s reproductive seed away. He ran his fingers idly through the streams before they were fully gone, then looked up to the man standing with the water raining into his face. The muscles in his back looked relaxed, languid.

“What was that?”

The angel stood slowly, so as not to slip in the slick shower stall. “What was what?”

“The tingly. Did you do that for me?”

Cas felt the corner of his mouth pull. “Actually Dean, I was so spent from before that I had to call on my divine powers in order to pleasure you.”

Dean turned to look at him. His hair was a mess and plastered to the left. “Your angel powers made my dick tingle?”

The goofball grin was returning, and there was simply nothing her could do to stop it. “It would seem so.” Then Castiel grinned wider and decided to push. “Would you like me to use that technique again, Dean?”

The hunter’s expression remained flat and annoyed, as if he were looking at his brother after a run. But he soon responded with “Yes Castiel, angel of the Lord, I would love for you to use miracles as a cheap alternative to KY tingly gel.” Then he turned to reach for the shampoo and muttered “At least with this, I don’t have to worry about chemical burns.”

Castiel was running a bar of soap over his chest, but stopped suddenly at Dean’s words. “You aren’t serious.”

“It’s a sad story, Cas. A very, very sad story involving a stripper and sensitive skin—mine—that I don’t want to talk about right now.”

 


	24. In the Details

After an hour-long shower, and the angel’s second and third orgasms of his life, Castiel was determined to get to the bottom of the question of the mark. Unfortunately, Dean had other plans. Another orgasm (and fifteen minutes later), Cas managed to slip away from Dean as he watched a rerun of Dr. Who while munching on Captain Crunch.

“Dude, this is a really good one. Even has angels.”

If Castiel weren’t an angel he might have rolled his eyes. “We watched this one together a month ago, Dean. And they are aliens; not angels.”

“Whatever.” He scratched at his leg, lifting his boxers slightly, then cursed as he dropped some milk on his Led Zeppelin tee. “Fuck. I’ll call Bobby after the cop gets zapped. Come get me if I can help.”

“Of course,” and he was out the door before anything else could distract him.

Once Castiel stepped onto the deck, he quickly sent out an energy which Dean might call “feelers.” He was looking for any angel in the area. He doubted that the angel from last night didn’t think to make himself invisible to his siblings, but it never hurt to make sure. As he waited for the full sensation to take effect, he sent another much more direct feeler to Balthazar. The angel was in London in a pub. He quickly let him know that he would be needing his help soon.

The blue eyes fixated on the house he’d managed to rent from the spare change he’d found in wishing wells, and he thought about how appropriate it was that wishing wells provided him with a legitimate place to stay with Dean. A warmth flooded his chest even as his expression remained cool, his eyes wincing against the afternoon sun. His senses informed him of one angel in the immediate area—Zephon—who he was certain was simply on a form of stakeout for heaven. Zephon had refused to take sides, feeling that only God could decide the fate of heaven. Castiel respected that, but God wasn’t here now. Besides, Zephon had been in partnership with their brother Ithuriel since very nearly the dawn of mankind, and the two were very loyal.

That meant that the angel inhabiting a man called Patrick was not showing on up his radar. He wasn’t surprised in the least. Castiel looked at Dean’s Impala as he descended the deck stairs. He was starting to make movements as a human a habit when he was thinking, even pacing.

He decided if he couldn’t seek out information on the angel, he could learn more of the vessel. If he could narrow down his holy ancestor, he could figure out who the angel was. Additionally, were he to learn of Patrick’s life, it might also help him attack his rival from a different angle. It was true that vessels had no control over the angels they housed, but much like an unhappy landlord, they could evict the angel if inclined, and given something extra to work with. Something that caused very strong emotion. Cas smiled. He was finally glad for his years of Uriel teaching him how to “fight dirty.”

 

 

Dean thumbed through his contacts at all the numbers that Bobby had, none of which were picking up. He tried calling his brother too, but Sam’s numbers also weren’t going through. It was enough to have Dean Winchester concerned. He quickly phoned Sheriff Mills on her cell.

The spunky lady picked up her phone on the second ring. “Well, well…” She simply let the statement hang, indicating she knew who was calling.

Dean half smiled at the thought of her thumbs tucked into her belt, weight resting on one leg. “Sheriff Mills. How are you doin’ today?”

“Just fine Dean. Nothing…out of the ordinary to complain about.” Nothing _supernatural_ she meant. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you have something you want to talk with me about.”

“Yeah, uh I can’t seem to get a hold of Bobby or Sam—Sam’s staying with him—”

“Oh I know,” she interrupted. Dean could swear there was a note of amusement in her tone. “I found them in the public library last night after hours.”

The hunter scraped a palm over his face. “Yeah? They in lock up?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” She sighed into the phone and Dean could almost hear the eyeroll. “The library had a security guard and cameras—otherwise we could have avoided this altogether.” He heard the sound of heavy boots echoing, as if on concrete. “Or they could have simply visited when it was _open._ ”

Dean could hear a faint voice in the background he was pretty sure was Bobby. Something about closing earlier than he remembered.

“Great,” Dean groaned.

“I’m working on getting them released without charges, but it’s gonna take a little more sweet talking. It helps that the two didn’t do any damage, and they were clearly there to _read_ the books, rather than steal.” There were the sounds of people talking in the background, and when Sheriff Mills came back on the line she was much more reserved. “I have to go now. Anything you need from them before I hang up?”

“Just ask Bobby if there is any new information.” Dean stood and walked into the bedroom to get dressed. He fished a clean pair of jeans out of his bag and cradled the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he pulled them on.

There was a moment of discussion he could barely hear, then Mills was back on the line. “He says yes, but nothing that could help you locate ‘the guy’ and that he would have to talk to you about it more later.”

The hunter grimaced into the phone. “Uh. Alright. Well thank you Sheriff.”

“I’ll make sure he calls you as soon as I spring ‘em. As always: a pleasure Dean.” She responded lightly into the phone before he heard the line drop.

Dean set his phone onto the coffee table in front of him, then folded his fingers together and pressed them to his mouth in thought. He wondered if he should summon the angel— _could_ a person summon an angel without his name? He supposed he could fuck it up and end up summoning one of Raphael’s minions if he wasn’t careful.

He stood and paced in front of the couch. He felt like a freakin’ damsel in a tower. He really shouldn’t leave of he didn’t want to be kidnapped by an angel—potentially.

Maybe he could start laying traps for when they located Patrick. After all, he wanted a very nonlethal way of dealing with the angel. Patrick didn’t seem like a bad guy. Dean just wanted to be with Cas instead. He was still hoping they could talk it all out. Maybe Dean could set the guy up—Sammy was single.

Dean grinned wide as he turned to his bedroom to get one of the few earthen containers they’d brought which held holy oil. He touched the handle of the pot beneath his bed and pulled it out from under the dust ruffle—or whatever it was.

He trotted into the living room and began to pour the contents of the clay jug into a circle in front of the door. He tried to imagine Sammy dating an angel, but he found the concept of Sam dating a male more strange than the former.

_The fuck—_

Dean stopped his hilarious internal monologue when he ran out of the oil.

He glanced down at the jug. Huh. Placing the jug down by the door, Dean turned and walked back into his room. He thumped down to his knee as he fished his arm under the bed to pull out his other earthen container. His hand grasped air. Dean pursed his lips and dropped to his stomach with a short groan to peer beneath the sheets. He recalled doing this for Sammy a lot as a child. Dean blinked.

There was no more.

No more oil.

The rest was in the car.

“Fuck,” he bit down. He wouldn’t be going outside without Cas right now.

So, awesome. He just poured out the last of his holy oil on the floor by the door, but there wasn’t enough to make a ring. He looked around the living space while he thought. What _else_ could he do to use time efficiently? What did someone need to go up against an angel?

Well, another angel sure helped, but he wanted to be ready in case Cas wasn’t there. The angel had warded the windows very well against any angel but himself and Balthy—and wasn’t that cool how he could specify that simply by changing the way in which the markings touched?

They didn’t have any angel banishing sigils though. That’s something he could do. Dean walked into the kitchen, setting down the empty jug as he went, and grabbed a clean knife. He pricked his finger, then spun the blade in his hand as he began to trace the symbols onto a windowpane. Later, he would blame his over-sexed body for what happened next. He was obviously too loose—too relaxed to have his proper reaction time working. Otherwise he wouldn’t have dropped the knife. Yeah.

The hunter yelped as he felt the cool blade slide firmly through his sock and into the webbing between his first and second toe. He knelt and removed the blade quickly with a grimace. Fucking stupid reaction time.

Dean slowly rose to his feet, his face hard and expressionless.

He took in a deep breath, then growled out his exhale slowly while forming words. “I need a beer.”

 

 

Patrick Moore was a simple man. He lived in a small house about five miles outside of a small but fairly diverse college town in central West Virginia. His house was simple but neat, and surprisingly homey for a hunter, with freshly painted trim around the windows and porch. The porch had a bench swing and a rocking chair, with a small table to set drinks on hot days. He owned a riding lawnmower because he had about two acres to cut every week, and he owned one broken down farm truck without plates. There was an obvious spot under a carport for another vehicle, but it was missing. The large yard was fenced for a dog or two—something that would have cost a small fortune, Castiel noted. The dog house was empty, and it appeared canine essentials such as leash, food, and treats were missing from the home. The animal was probably staying with friends.

Inside the house, there was a small outdated kitchen with painted cabinets, a small living room with a TV, couch, and Playstation 3, two three-quarter bathrooms of modest size, and two bedrooms barely large enough to fit the king bed in the master plus one small corner shelf to act as a nightstand. The closet was large enough for a working man. Patrick Moore was a simple man with very simple needs. He had a place to cook, which he used based on the looks of the spice rack. He had his entertainment system, and his comfortable mattress. He also had a dog companion, who was not home.

Patrick Moore also had a fair number of photographs throughout his home, several of which were of one woman.

Castiel allowed his more physical habits take over as he picked up a photograph of said woman on thin land strip in what appeared to be a man-made lake. He held this framed picture in his hands for a moment, then brought it in tight to his face as he squinted in contemplation. There were no female clothes in the house. He set the wood and glass wrapped image down carefully, then glanced over the other easily viewable images in the room.

The woman aged some from photograph to photograph—starting at what appeared to be snapshot taken at a high school dance. The shot had been taken during the event—whatever that was—and he could see that a much younger Patrick with a low ponytail and braces, and the dark-haired woman in question were on the dance floor laughing. The photograph was of very bad quality—Patrick had red eye, and there were small dust orbs throughout the image which had been illuminated by the flash. But, it was clearly a treasured shot, having faded out from the sun long ago.

The most recent image showed the young woman perhaps in her later twenties with Patrick looking very similar to his current state, but with shorter hair. The two stood on a rock ledge in the right third of the image, with most of the frame dominated by a vast stretch of what Castiel knew to be the Appalachian Mountain Range.  They were such _old_ mountains.

The angel’s gaze followed the line of the tall ginger’s arm to where it rested on the brunette woman’s abdomen in the photograph. Cas sighed as he also recognized that age old bump on a woman of otherwise slimmer proportions. She would have been between into her second trimester when this shot was taken.

Castiel stepped back from the dresser he’d managed to drift to, peeling his eyes away from the memorabilia. There were no newborn photos, nor albums to be seen, and there was certainly no evidence to suggest a child had lived here. No toys, no crib, no formula or bottles.

The angel looked around the small home once more, then murmured a curse under his breath. He would make a stop to public records, but he was already very certain he knew what had happened. Death during birth was much rarer at this point in human history, but statistics on maternal morbidity meant nothing to the individual.

The dull throb of guilt he felt at playing such a hand against an angel at the vessel’s emotional expense had him stalling. Would he really _have_ to play this game? Cas frowned as he stared at his reflection in the glass of the picture frame. Jimmy’s reflection really, but it was starting to feel personal. Like his own.

Castiel pulled back from the photograph and walked back into the center of the living room. He wondered what Dean would think of this. Dean was often a man of action, taking the steps necessary to finish a fight. But, he was also someone who hated toying with other’s emotions. What would he _think_?

The dark-haired man took one last glancing sweep of the small home, then decided something. He decided he would discover more about Patrick’s lineage in hopes it would lead him to the angel’s identity. He would also research this pregnant woman in the man’s life. He would use whichever knowledge was required to stop the angel from marking Dean. It was that simple.

With a light flapping sound, the angel was gone from the property, and there was very little to suggest he had ever been there.


	25. One Angel In Twelve Legions

The phone rang just as Dean was about to redial Bobby. He was surprised when he saw the old bastard’s name pop up on the screen. Dean flipped his phone open.

“Been tryin’ to call you.” Dean accused into the phone.

“I know it,” the older man grouched. “I still have nothing on how to locate the angel. But, I figured you’d like to hear that I learned a little something about the mark you aughta find interesting.”

Dean shook his head as he leaned back into the couch. “Bobby, can you read my mind?”

“Not over the phone at least—now listen: The mark only works when the human agrees and ‘accepts the angel into her heart.’ How sweet.”

He threw his hand up into the air, then clapped the palm to his jean clad knee. “Once again, I’m the girl here.”

“Just how the old book puts it.” Bobby coughed roughly into the receiver. “Ain’t like Catholics were thinking angels would have sex with men.”

“Why?” The younger man spun his protection ring on his finger as he kicked his legs up to rest on the coffee table.

Dean could practically hear the eyeroll come through the phone. “Cause they believed angels were male—come on boy, don’t you want to hear this?”

“Yes please.”

“Okay.” He could hear pages flipping in the background. “Well, turns out the mark protects the human from possession no matter what, but it also protects the human against the angel who marked him.”

“Ah, what?”

“Like it will zap the angel who marked the human if the human hasn’t accepted the angel as his mate/spouse/whatever. Keeps the angel honest—no rape approval from the big guy upstairs. Once she—he, sorry—accepts said angel, then no more ouchies for the angel. It is so the human has a say in all this mess.”

Dean didn’t realize he’d dropped the phone until it landed on his exposed pinky toe.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck.” The hunter grumbled as he retrieved it. He wiggled his poor piggy back and forth as he sat back in the chair. The bandage from his earlier mishap crunched under his new, clean sock.

“You alright, son?” He heard as he pressed the speaker to his ear.

“It’s Cas, Bobby.” Dean breathed into the phone.

“What?”

“Cas marked me, Bobby!” Dean shook his head and ran his thumb over his lips. “I dunno when, but sometime in Cas’s future and my past or something.”

“Dean,” the gruff voice came through the phone sounding apprehensive and seemed to hesitate before asking. “How do you know this?”

“Uh?” Flashes of naked Cas on top of him entered his mind before he could stop them. “We may have…fooled around last night.

There was a long sigh from the other end of the phone.

“…and this morning,” Dean supplied.

He could almost hear the hat coming off. “Well, I suppose I should just be happy that you’re in a healthy relationship with a nice respectable _creature_ that I know.”

“You think Cas and I are healthy?”

“The healthiest relationship you’ve ever had—look, if it was Cas in the first place I guess you guys don’t have to time travel, huh? I mean if you’re _happy_ with it, and you sound like ya are. I have a hunt for you in Sarasota, and it could use some angel mojo.”

“Jeez, no honeymoon period?”

“You’ve had it—get to Florida. Congratulations by the way.” And with that the call ended.

Dean stared at the screen as he watched the little red phone hang up repeatedly until it returned to the home menu. Cas marked him. Something soft filled his chest, warming him there, and he couldn’t help but smile. Crazy angel was going to spazz when he learned it was all a misunderstanding.

Except for Patrick. _Patrick._

He stood suddenly—too much energy not to—and ran to the kitchen to erase the angel warding. Patrick. The dude had tried to get him and Cas together before Dean had jumped him at the bar. His _partner_ had died recently and he _missed_ him. His mannerisms, the bands he liked, the _food_ he fucking liked.

“Holy shit.” Dean panted as he tore a paper towel from the holder under the cabinet. He ran warm water from the sink over the disposable wipe quickly, than wrung it out before he moved to the window.

That’s when he saw the angel in question on the deck of the house. He looked like he was studying the beach cottage—probably registering the angel warding. Dean was about to just open the door and let himself out to talk, when he heard the sound of wings.

“Interesting seeing you here.” Raphael’s current body stood before the redhead. Dean hit the fucking deck, checking on the scene by peering over the window sill.

 Patrick startled slightly as the archangel appeared from nothing.

The new female vessel circled slightly to Patrick’s left, and Dean was pretty sure the angel was clenching his jaw in annoyance. No, he squinted through the window. That was anger. Patrick was fucking pissed.

“What time are you from?”

The redhead began to answer Raphael’s question, but the archangel held up her hand. “Let me guess. Hm…about seventy-five years in the future, give or take a few years. Am I correct?”

Patrick’s frown deepened.

“You’re here for Dean Winchester.”

The redhead turned to glare at the other angel. “So?”

The hunter watched from the open window—able to hear or make out most of the conversation. What did this asshole want with Patrick? Did he—err, she know who he was?

“You took my offer then?” The grin that spread across Raphael’s features seemed to glow in the dark, much like the foam in the surf behind the two heavenly beings. “You _take_ my offer.”

Patrick didn’t speak, but Dean could see that he was fiddling with his jacket sleeve much like how Cas did when he was about to pull out his angel blade and go badass.

“Castiel, you must learn to read the fine print…”

Dean pulled back from the ajar window, holding back a surprised noise. He’d hoped that archangels couldn’t see through Patrick’s wards like Cas couldn’t, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Damn, Dean didn’t want future Cas to wind up on the ground with wing scorch marks.

Patrick—or Cas raised his lip slightly. “I’m here to see him. I just need to make sure he stays marked…that’s only fair. I am not defying you Raphael. You have everything you want.”

The archangel moved back, seemingly to study the other angel with more intent. “Marked? Why would he lose his mark?”

“I’m just paranoid.” Dean thought it was a good cover—but apparently his higher-up could see through it.

Raphael shook her head. “No Castiel. You are not. Not without reason.” The round eyes glanced up to the small beach house and seemed to take in the blood wards. Dean ducked out of sight before the eyes swooped by his window.

“Seems very well protected, but not from me. From most angels—huh. They don’t know who you are, but they know you marked Dean.”

The hunter popped his head up just enough to see over the window sill.

She turned back to the lesser angel, and a sly smile spread across the woman’s bird-like features. “Present Castiel wants to reverse that.” The smile was almost crude in its width, white teeth glowing in the faint porch light against ebony skin. Dean hoped an angel couldn’t split a vessel’s face in half by smiling.

Dean could tell that Raphael still wasn’t sure—that he was testing the waters. Gaining information. But even in this new vessel, Cas’s expressions were just as open as when he was in Jimmy. His eyes widened at Raphael’s words, which was the cue the archangel was looking for.

“Hm…well since I _am_ the angel of romantic relationships—” _Okay_ , _what the fuck,_ thought Dean. _Why does this asshole get to be the angel of love?_

“—I know exactly when he was marked.”

_Oh fuck!_ Dean felt himself do what Sam called a “facepalm.”

Patri—Cas just looked stunned, unable to even move.

“Maybe I’ll just…pay the young Winchester a visit. See where this goes.”

“Raphael!” Castiel barked. “Don’t be stupid. Do you really want _two_ of me after you for marking Dean? Because I promise you: that _will_ happen!”

The archangel pulled back, and actually sneered as if in disgust. “I do not want to mark Dean Winchester!” Dean could swear there was an angry reddish tone under the vessel’s skin, but all the human could do was let out a relieved breath at this angel’s obvious disgust.

Castiel looked bewildered—different face, but the exact same expression that Dean knew. How did he not get that Patrick was Cas? It was so fucking obvious now that it was downright shameful he didn’t catch on before.

“Besides the fact that he belongs to _Michael_ ,” Raphael seemed to glare daggers at the lowly angel who wanted take her big brother’s vessel, “I think it would be to my benefit to just…rid myself of you now.”

“But…your contract…”

“ _Your_ contract. I have not made one yet.”

Dean had enough time to think _you fucking shi—_

“You _fucking shit!_ ” Castiel’s voice boomed from Patrick’s body. The hunter had to hold a palm against the wall as he felt the earth rumble slightly below his feet. Dean would have been proud if they hadn’t been discussing ending his lover and best friend. “You got everything you wanted from that contract! I can’t even get into heaven to see Dean.” The angel blade dropped into his hand, and he flipped it into position.

Despite her flaunting air, the archangel took a step back. “And I am certain that since I haven’t managed to kill you yet, you’re planning something. You are never without the backup plan, Castiel.

Castiel seemed to snarl

Raphael seemed to manifest his blade from nothing. “ _That_ is the real reason you are here, isn’t it? To convince Dean or yourself to refuse my contract. To show them how to kill me. No—I would rather just get rid of you now than deal with some half crazed, but most likely effective suicide mission on your part—”

That’s when the Castiel in Patrick’s form lunged forward and buried his blade into his sibling’s vessel. Dean almost whooped out loud, because _Goddamn_ , it landed in the dick’s chest! That meant angel death, right?

Apparently it didn’t. Raphael took a moment to pant in pain, but slowly reached her arm up and _pulled the motherfucking angel blade out of her ribcage._ Dean felt everything in his stomach settle into his guts like heavy rocks.

The archangel _did_ look pale, but Dean was pretty sure that meant nothing when she dropped future Cas’s blade to the ground, then poofed away.

“Fuck!” Castiel screamed into the night.

Dean knelt on the floor, peering through the small window, a bit shocked by how quickly that all went down. Patri— _Cas_ hadn’t managed to kill the dick with a direct stab wound to the chest with his holy sword. Dean was pretty sure he’d believed that angel blades killed angels. Maybe for an archangel it had to be right in the heart. Or maybe you had to be on the same level of angel hierarchy, and Cas still wasn’t any archangel. How the _fuck_ was Cas planning to take this asshole down?

The hunter watched as the redheaded angel slowly withdrew his blade into his sleeve, then turned to look out at the waves. It was clear as Castiel ran a hand heavily over his new features, the hunch along his broad shoulders making his anguish evident. Dean wondered if Patrick had used too much angel mojo to chase Raphael into the past—or to even get home. Maybe future Cas had no intention of going home.

He didn’t know why—it must have been instinctual to comfort his angel now—but Dean slowly stood up fully, then crossed to the door and opened it. He stepped out onto the deck, and shut the door behind him.

The angel turned quickly at the noise. He froze when he saw it was the hunter.

“Hey Cas.” Dean shrugged.

Castiel, in the tall redhead, opened his mouth but seemed at a loss for words. “I—I don’t…”

“I heard everything.” He paused, his green eyes moving over the taller man’s expression. “I know everything.”


	26. Stranger With Your Face

Castiel was fairly certain that angels did not normally get caught snooping. Most would simply hangout invisibly to gain information by reading it over human’s shoulders, or even reading the dreams of the unconscious. Unfortunately, Castiel didn’t have the luxury of time. So, he found himself using the Winchester method—breaking into records of a local hospital. No other angel would have been caught red handed while searching medical records in the computer database.

“May I see your I.D. sir?”

Castiel nodded at the pale medical assistant who normally manned the front record’s desk. “Of course.” He produced one of his many false identification cards Dean and Sam had made him.

“Uh…” the young man drawled as he stared at the card. Cas was vaguely concerned that he had handed the young man the wrong card.

“It’s nothing serious,” he assured the medical assistant.

“CDC is here about nothing serious?” A bushy eyebrow arched below his messy bangs.

Castiel forced a smile and tried to emulate Dean’s charming influence. “Not yet.”

His card was handed back to him quickly. “Okay, but Mr. Tomolonis normally we have anyone checking the medical records _sign in_ before they come back here.”

“Oh,” Castiel croaked out.

The man sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “Just sign in on your way out, okay?”

The angel nodded perhaps a little too eagerly. “Of course.”

The assistant began to leave the room, then stopped with the door held half open. “How did you _even_ get back here without signing in?”

The man in the suit and tan trench coat—the angel had changed when it became apparent that such attire would be more fitting for his current research—glanced around the room slowly. “I was…”

“Did Janine let you in?” He crossed his arms and let the door swing shut behind him.

Cas took a chance, and picked the most nonspecific thing he could think of. “Dark hair?”

The young man rolled his eyes. “I’ve _told_ her she has to get people to sign in when I’m on break.”

“Well, do not be too hard on her.” Cas attempted a charming smile once more. “I had a lot of questions and I must have distracted her.”

“Whatever,” He rolled his eyes again as he left.

Cas looked around the records room, then back to the computer in front of him. He’d hacked into the system in a manner of minutes through trial and error, which would have taken an advanced program days to go through all possible combinations. He’d searched for “Moore, Patrick” and had found two, then narrowed it easily to the person he wanted by date of birth. The other Patrick Moore was in his seventies.

There was a small note about shared insurance with another recent patient. Adrianna Guerra-Moore. Castiel opened this file in a separate tab then read it over.

The angel’s eyes flicked quickly over the monitor, then came to a rest at the cause of death. Blue eyes dropped to the keyboard, and the man sighed heavily. It was as he suspected. It was an upsetting concept that a procedure intended to comfort a woman in labor may on occasion lead to death. For both the child and mother.

Castiel closed the tab for Patrick’s wife, then selected the most recent files for Patrick.

The angel sat at the computer terminal with his hand on the mouse, simply staring at the screen.   It had become abundantly clear why Patrick Moore might grasp onto the purpose of being an angel’s vessel, and while there was more than enough emotional turmoil here for him to use against the angel within the man, he dreaded having to. There was no victory in breaking a terminally ill man who had lost his family.

Cas looked down at the mousepad and scratched his fingernail against a tacky spot. He was less than certain at how he might address this angel now, and he was somewhat perplexed by his reaction to this new information. The mousepad was made to look like a Navajo rug, with brightly colored geometric patterns and fringe on both ends—which was less than accurate. He wondered what had been spilled on the rug to make the corner tacky to the touch.

The angel sat and puzzled over the mousepad rug for some time—only a few moments by human standards, but much too long by angelic measure.

Castiel sat and thought about humans.

 

 

Watching the expressions Dean had come to know as inherently Cas cross Patrick’s lightly freckled features was more than strange. He realized now, that Cas had been keeping his recognizable facial ticks in check before. Probably to stay undercover, or whatever you called this. But now, it felt like he was watching Cas in a very good latex mask. But this wasn’t a mask. The skin could feel if he decided to reach out and run his fingers over the chin. The red hair would cause pain if pulled too hard. The hazel eyes could see him just as clearly as the blue of Jimmy’s. But that _wasn’t_ Jimmy’s body to Dean. That was undeniably a part of Cas. In the back of his mind, Dean began to wonder if there was ever a way he might be able to see Cas’s true form. To know what he really looked like. Did he even have a perceivable form to humans other than blinding light?

Castiel stood in the doorway, as Dean tried to look through his skin. The man’s shoulders nearly touched the doorframe in this hulking form, and Dean thought he looked claustrophobic.

“Dean, I…” the redhead dropped his sentence, at a loss for what to say.

The hunter tilted his head up to meet the hazel gaze, and that was _fuckin’_ _weird._ “Why are you hiding, Cas?”

Cas opened his mouth, then shut it and looked down.

“Cas?” Dean began to reach out his hand, but stopped before it could reach his friend’s arm.

“I am…” The angel glanced back up to meet his gaze. “I am a coward.”

Dean pursed his lips and exhaled forcefully, making a “ffft” sound. “If anyone’s _not_ a coward, it’s you Cas. Hell, I’ve seen you risk you life time after time to save people and stand for what you believe in.”

Red brows drew together, and the angel set his jaw. “I am sorry I caused you trouble. I was just here to check on… _things_ and help if I could.”

“What?” Dean stepped forward. “You mean with Cas? We’re…” the man stopped and felt a smile half smile pull at his features involuntarily. “We’re actually _really_ fine, man. That thing in the alley was not a deal breaker, which I am so thankful for. So don’t worry about it.”

Patrick nodded. “I am glad for that. I was concerned it might have affected our relationship in this time.”

Dean held up his hand. “Naw. We’re good.” Dean laughed. “Actually, I’m really relieved to know that the only person who could tempt me to cheat on you was, well…” He trailed off.

The redhead smiled slightly, but kept his eyes on the floor. “That is forgivable.” The sound of wings opening was like a firecracker to Dean. He knew that sound all too well. “I will be in touch with your Castiel to explain everything.”

 “Stay! Castiel—I mean _you_ are gonna be back very soon.” Dean made a palm-out stop motion. “Just stay so that we can tell him what’s going on, then you can both go after Raphael together.” Desperation flooded him. His boyfriend from the future was here. He needed to know why. He wanted to know so much about _them._

Patrick seemed to think this over, then nodded. “I suppose that would be in our best interest.”

“Right?” Dean crossed into the small kitchen to toss the damp paper towel. “You know where the son of a bitch went?”

“Of course I know where he went, but I cannot follow him. I am using almost all of my power maintaining this vessel and my wards.” Cas grit his teeth as he strode across the room, shutting the front door behind him. Dean watched the emotions play out on his face, and he wondered if it was the vessel with the more severe expressions, or if future Cas just learned how to emote more from living as a human for so long.

“Yeah about that,” Dean piped in through the haze of seething that seemed to follow Cas around the living room. “Why aren’t you in Jimmy?”

Patrick stopped with his back to Dean, his shoulders squared but thrust forward so much like a determined Castiel. “Jimmy’s body was destroyed shortly after you passed.”

Dean found himself blinking again in surprise. He’d have to watch for that when bluffing later on. It seemed to be a reoccurring tell. “What the fuck? Why?”

“Raphael attempted to kill me, but killed my vessel instead.” The taller man turned back to look at the human. “Jimmy got his release, but I lost my vessel. I…” Cas seemed to glance out the window, red hair hanging in his face. “I did not want to take one of his line again. We had an understanding, and after having our children—”

“We have kids?” Dean felt like his eyes might fall out of their sockets.

Patrick smiled softly “Adopted, obviously. Mostly the children of dead hunters, Dean.” Then there was a moment that seemed off. Patrick lifted his hand as if to touch Dean’s cheek, but stopped himself mid motion. When the human cocked an eyebrow at the angel, he lowered his hand to his side.

“Anyway, I know what it means to be a father—a grandfather even. I couldn’t do that to him.”

“And you needed to get back here?” Dean supplied.

Patrick nodded. “And I needed to get back here.” He looked around the room, eyes falling over the furniture, the small mess on the coffee table, and the entrances to the bedrooms and bath. “I miss this place.”

“Do we stay here often?”

“Enough.” His eyes returned to Dean’s, and the hazel was so strange with that expression that was so Cas.

“So you took a vessel from my time.”

“I did. Patrick is a very devout man, and he was willing to take the risk.”

Dean broke eye contact, uncomfortable with that stare from another face, then shuffled over to his abandoned beer on the coffee table to take down the last few sips. “What risk would that be?”

“Patrick is not of a viable line for me—for any angel actually. He was at risk of burning out much like how you encountered Raphael’s vessel in the hospital. I promised him that I would do all I could to preserve his mind. He agreed. He is fine—but keeping him with me is like constantly heeling you or Sam. It is… _tiring._ ”

The beer was warm, but he needed something to do, so he swallowed it down. “Why would he agree to that?” He burped quietly under his breath.

“Because he has nothing to lose.” The small smile spread across Patrick’s features. “Because he believes in us.”

Dean stood with his foot out, resting on the opposite leg. He wondered why the fuck anyone would put that much faith in their group, but he figured he didn’t want to know. He certainly didn’t want to know what all the hunter network knew about him at this point.

He turned to sit on the couch, choosing an end so that he could utilize an arm rest. “Why did you come to see me?”

Patrick looked at the man. “I said why.”

“You missed me.” Dean leaned forward, propping an elbow on his knee. “Why didn’t you go to heaven?”

Cas sat down on the faded chair perpendicular to his human. “The war, Dean. And I was barred from heaven.”

“Don’t angels go to heaven when they die?”

“Heaven is for humans. We don’t know what happens to us.”

The hunter’s eyebrows drew together as he gave the angel the most critical look. “That’s kind of sick, isn’t it?”

Patrick’s eyes met his stare. “It’s the only thing we have to take with blind faith.”

Dean sat back into the couch, kicking his ankle up to rest on his opposite knee. “Why not just visit me?”

Cas stood, turning away from the coffee table to pace. “When I made a deal with Raphael to give up the war until after your death, he barred me from heaven in the process.”

“Why’d you do something stupid like that?”

“Because I was selfish. I wanted to live a life with you on earth without such disruptions. I wanted you to come first.”

“Before heaven?”

Patrick—Castiel looked down to his hands for a second, considering. When he spoke, his voice was reminiscent of the gravelly tone he used in Jimmy’s body. “Yes.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” The angel half smiled as he kept his gaze on his knees.

Dean sat forward. “You help me with this, and I will help you with Raphael. Hell, now Cas can help too.”

“Now Cas is attempting my plan.”

“That ‘less than ethical’ plan you don’t want me knowing about is _the same freakin’_ _plan you have now?”_ Dean shook his head. “Dude, how long does this plan take to implement?”

“I did not come here to get you involved.” Patrick sat on the edge of the couch, a couple feet from Dean. “I came to make sure I didn’t let Raphael talk me into that foolish contract.” His eyes flicked up to the green staring at him. “Or let you talk me out of my plan.”

“So,” the hunter took a sip of his beer, attempting to finish it. “What _is_ this plan to kill Raphael? Give it up.” Dean felt his face grow a little red. He remembered talking to Patrick about this plan in the bar. “Are you going to get yourself killed?”

“No.” Patrick responded with such confidence, and a steady gaze, that Dean actually believed him.  “But it will change me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I will have more power than any other created being.”

“That…” Dean hesitated. “That sounds like it would help, but you—”

“Yes?” The hazel eyes stared him down, challenging him, but there was also a vulnerable undertone. Was Cas afraid?

Dean shifted beside Patrick on the couch, leaving about a foot of space between them. “How are you going to handle all that power?”

The redhead refused to release his gaze until that moment, then the human watched the heavy lashes drop down as the angel stared at his own lap. “You will need to be there for me.”

“Okay?” He inched a little closer, trying to meet the hazel eyes.

Cas stared at the black screen of the TV, then looked down at his hands on his knees. “I believe I will be on a… _high_ if you will, and I will need you to talk me down. Convince me to return the borrowed power. If you do not, I might do something we both regret.”

He nodded. “I can do that. Are _you_ doing this or my Cas?”

“Your Castiel should, I do not think my vessel will survive it. Hopefully I can be there to help you with…me.”

“Okay.” Dean raised a hand to place it over Castiel’s, but stopped. The two caught each other’s gaze briefly, then Dean pulled his hand back and turned away, clearing his throat.

“Dean? I’m sorry Dean.”

The human ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and swallowed. “Yeah, just let me know this plan. Give me the rundown so I can actually help you.”

“Of course.” The larger man nodded, then scooted away to give the other some space.

Dean stopped him with a hand on his elbow. Cas looked up and watched as the man traced over his features with his eyes. Still Dean’s warm hand remained.

“I’m okay Cas, it’s just weird.” He gave a little squeeze of reassurance, and the corners of Patrick’s mouth pulled into a small smile.


	27. The Space Between 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the process of the next chapter now, so update will come very soon. I wanted to thank all the readers for sticking with this and for the wonderful reviews. I am just happy so many seem to like it. I wrote a novel for NaNoWriMo (not done yet, but on the way), so I took a break from this story to do that. I loved it. Great experience—highly recommended. So, I hope you’ll understand the month-long break for November. If anyone has an interest in an original scifi/romance novel from me (yes with M/M), let me know. We have plans for it. Did I say we? Yes, yes I did. We have some very big plans.
> 
> Additionally, if you liked the first installment of my SPN “Time After Time” series, you’re gonna be pleased very soon with a continuation of that fun story.
> 
> As always, thank you for the amazing reviews (criticism is also welcome). They make my day.

“I didn’t even know there was a purgatory.”

Patrick raised one eyebrow, then let it drop. “Most humans don’t. Bobby does.”

Dean rolled his eyes, then lean back into the couch cushion. “Of _course_ he does.”

Castiel watched the human’s reaction for a moment. The two sat closer on the couch, having moved into the path of conversation which had become natural for them both. The closeness was instinctual now, and even though Cas worn different skin, Dean has even turned toward him and scooted closer now that he was more familiar with this body. The men sat so that their knees brushed occasionally, depending upon what motions they carried through the conversation. Turns out the angel has become quite animated with his hands while talking in his years with Dean, and the hunter had caught several mannerisms clearly learned from both him and Sammy.

The angel watched, nearly as fascinated as he might have been when first experiencing human touching, as Dean’s left knee brushed Patrick’s right.

Sitting forward again, Dean continued with his train of thought. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. I always wondered where the monsters went because—you know, some are actually okay-ish.”

Castiel nodded, his red hair bobbing lightly. Dean was in that in-between stage of having been taught to hate all supernaturals, and the stage of knowing that, like humans, it varied. The Dean who had died in their bed had this knowledge.

Dean’s knee brushed Patrick’s once again.

“Is there any chance Cas—you—might die from the power?”

The angel’s gaze shot straight up to meet the human’s. He had been looking at Dean’s lap, admiring the youthful curve of his partner’s thigh muscle through his jeans. Now was most certainly _not_ the time. No matter how much he felt both his heart and borrowed body ache.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, but I believe only if I hold onto the power for a longer period of time than we plan.” Castiel allowed a small snort at Dean’s wide-eyed expression. “Just more motivation for you to talk me down.”

Dean felt his brow getting heavy as he gave Cas his best “fucking hell” face. He blinked a few times as he looked down to his fist in his lap. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. The hunter leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees to support himself.

“I don’t like this.”

“I know.” Cas’s voice seemed to soothe. “But, it _is_ the best way to get rid of him now.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. It would be.”

The man with the red hair glanced around the room as he considered something. “I don’t think we have to do it alone, Dean.” He turned back to his human with a small smile. “We do have friends here, you know.”

“What? Like Sam and Bobby?” Dean huffed out.

“Yes, and Balthazar.”

“Balthazar?”

Castiel felt their legs brush again, and he thought perhaps he should back up. “Yes. I asked him once of he would help me with the time jump to stop the mark. I believe he will stay true to his promise, and he may also be able to help with the doors to purgatory.”

“Does he fight with you in the future?”

Nodding, the angel pulled himself back a few inches on the couch. “He did. And he died for his efforts. I would like to prevent that this time around.”

“And this is safer than dealing with any attack Raphael would coordinate,” Dean agreed.

The human suddenly flopped back into the couch, stretching his arms above his head, cracking his back. Cas watched as his shoulders rotated, the muscles—built from daily work rather than a gym—gliding under the thin tee shirt sleeves. Dean set his arms down at his sides, but kept his head back against the cushion. The long lines of his neck, and the cords of his muscles called to the angel. When he swallowed slowly, Castiel watched the Adam’s apple bob up, then down. He turned his eyes away quickly. He had no business letting his mind wander. He was sitting on a couch next to his dead lover. A couch they’d made love on more than once. These emotions and urges were only natural, but that was not his business in the past. He did not come here for a booty-call.

“Hey,” Castiel felt Dean nudge his side with his elbow. He turned back to look at the human who was leaning in close, probably to get a good read on his expressions.

“Hm?” Cas grunted.

“You doin’ alright?” Dean asked. “Are you smiling?”

He realized he was indeed smiling. “I was thinking about how far I have come with slang terms.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cas met the human’s eyes. Before he realized what he was doing, his rather large hand was cupping the left side of Dean’s face, and the green irises were rimmed by white on all sides.

Castiel stopped smiling and dropped his hand.

His partner’s expression softened, his gaze narrowing but without suspicion.

“This must be rough,” the human supplied.

Castiel lowered his eyes and nodded. “It is. Incredibly.” He sighed.

Dean shot a glance around him, as if to make sure no one was watching, then turned back to the angel. “Would a hug help?”

A stifled huff of a laugh fell from Castiel’s mouth, as he looked back up to the man.

Dean sat perfectly still without changing his expression.

Cas stopped laughing, and sat up straight as if he were being evaluated. “You are serious.”

“If it would help, then yeah.”

Castiel swallowed. “I would appreciate that.”

“Okay,” Dean scooted closer until their knees were once again touching, then held out his arms. “Come here.”

The angel eyed the offered embrace—which really looked like a child asking for a hug from an adult—then turned so he could bring his torso closer to Dean’s. The larger man bent so that his forehead rested on Dean’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arms loosely around the familiar body. Dean’s arms closed over his shoulders and ribcage, pulling him in even tighter.

_This is fuckin’ weird,_ Dean thought.

Though the size difference was reversed and more severe, Castiel found himself falling into his love’s arms regardless of the strange and unfamiliar interaction. Dean’s arms didn’t meet around him, and he was used to them being able to over-lap, but he didn’t mind. He was home again here, even if that home seemed a bit more crowded than he remembered.

Dean clutched onto the larger man, feeling strange because he very rarely hugged Sammy or their father, and there were no other broad built and tall males in his life would he would consider holding like this. Castiel, though a bit shorter than him and slighter built, always seemed pretty equal to hold. It was very weird dealing with such wide shoulders. He wondered if he would feel shielded if the roles were reversed with this Castiel’s body.

Cas breathed out slowly, but heavily, then turned his mouth into the crook of Dean’s neck as he squeezed his middle. Dean felt his body tighten at the brush of hot hair on his skin in such a sensitive place. His lab began to feel a bit tight in his jeans.

“Ah, Cas?”

There was another sigh, which didn’t freakin’ _help_ his situation, then a low and rumbly voice filled his ear.

“Is this okay Dean?”

It was undeniably Castiel’s voice. Even in the new body, Dean would be able to recognize that glass-shard texture anywhere. It was the first time he really _felt_ and connected with the concept that this person _was_ his Cas.

It was like someone flipped on the “instant boner” switch.

He winced and tried not to groan against the red hair.

Dean’s arms were suddenly empty, and he blinked as he discovered a panting Castiel standing across the room.

“I am afraid my ability for professionalism is gone,” Cas gasped into the space between them.

“Uh yeah.” Dean grabbed a throw pillow and covered the obvious bulge in his pants, that was way too hard to attempt to tuck away at the moment. “Me too.”

The admission from the human caused the tall angel to gasp out a held breath once more. “No matter how much I—I—” Castiel stammered, and Dean was pretty sure it was a first.

Castiel blinked, seeming to compose himself. “I am not here for that.”

“Right.” Dean nodded curtly.

“And amongst other things; I do not have Patrick’s permission.”

Dean nodded again and sighed, feeling his teenage-like raging horniness slow down slightly. “That actually helps me,” he laughed nervously.

“Good.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, but nothing was said. There was an awkward space between them, with nothing to fill it that would not cause guilt later. The two wanted each other, the one desiring to reclaim a dead love to top it all off. There was no way around it. They were adults—well an adult and a celestial being—so they should have been able to handle these feelings. But in this situation, at this moment, the two knew they could not.

Castiel looked down at his feet. “I will find Balthazar and prepare for the ritual.”

“Sure,” Dean agreed.

“Pray to me, or call, and I will come.” He glanced back up to the human who remained on the comfortable couch.

“Sure.” It was all Dean could say.

Patrick’s hazel eyes gave Dean one last look that might be called “longing,” or even “smoldering,” but Dean wasn’t a romance writer so he liked the term “fucking hot” instead.

Then the angel was gone with the familiar sound of wings flapping, which was identical no matter Cas’s form.

 


	28. Ready...Set...Go!

Castiel needed desperately to find some other way to locate the angel within the man named Patrick Moore. His normal methods for finding his siblings led him to nothing since he had no concept of who the angel was. He could feel all his siblings on earth, like small peripheral cords connecting them all in a web. He could pinpoint every one of his brothers and sisters to their exact location when on the same plane, assuming none were using wards to hide. Most never did. He had on occasion, but that was very atypical.

Cas was beginning to think he was an atypical angel.

Those angels in heaven, he would only feel connected with them were they to move to this plane, him to heaven, or if one of them were to die. In the moment when an angel burnt out, all could feel it, and it could feel all its siblings. One last moment of pure connection. It was a rumor that in that last moment, the angel dying could feel their father as well. But, that had never been proven. No angel recovered once past the point of their wings scorching the earth.

Castiel could not recall what it felt like when he was killed. He remembered the seconds before, but then nothing until his resurrection, certain of his previous death. He knew he’d been connected with his father in those moments—for he was the only one who could have brought him back from nothing. But he couldn’t recall having felt him, and that was painful for one of the last angels with faith.

He hovered in the earthly plane, but remained apart from it. His essence was neither quite there, or was it in any other in those moments. He wanted to feel corporal, and stand on solid ground, but he did not want any of his siblings to have a specific location for him. They might have a general idea of his location, but because his location was in fact nonspecific, they would not be able to find him as long as he stayed here. He considered visiting another planet in the system—Mars was peaceful to him—but it would cause the same problems as if he were anywhere on Earth.

Here he could feel and see his own wings, but had no use for them. There was no up or down, no direction at all in fact. His true visage shown through the vessel, but no human could ever survive between planes to see, and all his siblings knew him for what he was regardless of skin. Some humans could sometimes glance at this in-between space— _nonspace_ —but they were few and far between. Those who were piercing the veil could, and some psychics. Pamela was one who could see, and would have most likely retained her sight had she searched for him here. But he’d been on earth without a vessel, and so she drew him close using her physical senses as much as her spiritual. And so she had lost her sight in a way that even he could not heal.

He would have to return to the physical world soon in order to find Patrick, but he wasn’t yet ready. The time he wasted was nothing—time did not move here, nor was it a straight line. He could spend what felt as thousands of years here, only to return at the exact time he’d left.

So Castiel existed, as he considered his next move.

 

 

Balthazar cocked an eyebrow at the tall, very well built ginger before him. He ran his eyes down the length of the vessel’s body clad in fitted boot-cut jeans and a clinging dark green Henley, then back up to meet his brother’s eyes.

“I must say, this new body is most flattering on you Castiel.”

“Thank you.” The redhead responded stiffly. He’d never been the focus of Balthazar’s sexual attention before. He’d never been the focus of any of his sibling’s sexual attention, really. Not that many angels actually connected enough with their vessels and physicality to feel such base needs. Balthazar was one of the rare ones. That could be due to how long he had kept his vessel, much like Gabriel.

Balthazar’s eyes fell onto Patrick’s open collar, and Castiel shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“And thank you too for opening up a link in your warding for me to recognize you.” The blond angel produced a sly grin as the skin around his blue eyes crinkled. “I might have tried my luck with you if I had thought it was anonymous.” 

Castiel swallowed with obvious discomfort, and his brother snickered lightly at the reaction. “I am not from this time.”

“That I gathered,” Balthazar’s voice rolled out slowly, and oh so very seductively.

The angel wearing the red hair shook his head. “I should have known you wouldn’t handle this professionally.”

His brother tisked. “There is nothing professional about the way you look right now, Cassie.”

He narrowed his eyes at his brother, the blond patting him on the back.

“Alright, so can I assume by the _extreme_ warding—dear Father, you _must_ be exhausted—new vessel, alternate time, and absolute lack of humor on your part that something dire is going down?”

Castiel beat his brother’s wandering hand away from cupping his vessel’s ass. “Balthazar, you know I have no sense of humor.”

The blond angel smiled crookedly.

He sighed heavily. “I can’t make another time jump as I am.”

Balthazar nodded, suddenly much more sober in expression than before. “With your vessel,” he provided.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “I need you to help me with a time jump, and I am sorry to ask, but I also need your assistance with something much, much more difficult.”

The man in the plunging v-neck pursed his lips together, then took a half step back to eye up his brother. “And this would be?”

“Purgatory.” The redhead supplied. “I need to open purgatory to kill Raphael.”

“Eh,” Balthazar seemed to eye their surroundings as if checking to make sure they weren’t being watched. Cas noted the instinctual action, which must have been a side effect of his brother living in the same vessel for generations, and being mostly earth-bound. He was taking on very physical manifestations of his metaphysical traits.

The blue eyes shifted back to Castiel’s. “Do you think that’s really necessary? Kill Raphael? Open _purgatory?_ ”

He found it interesting that the opening of purgatory seemed more extreme to Balthazar than killing one of the archangels. “Yes. I do.”

The other man eyed him with great scrutiny, then twisted his features into a wince. “Really?”

“Balthazar,” Cas rolled his eyes. “I’m from the future.”

“Oh,” the angel seemed to square his shoulders in a very militaristic stance, which told him that his brother was falling into line. “Right, of course.”

 Castiel nodded. “Thank you, brother. I knew I could count on you.”

Balthazar nodded vigorously, then clapped his palms together before rubbing them quickly. “Alright then, give me the down-low on this bit with purgatory, hm?”

 

 

The moment that the angel Castiel reentered the physical plane, he felt it.

It was like an alarm, which must have been going off for some time, but he had not felt it until just then. That was how he set up the warding around the beach house—to alert him should an angel enter. Of course, no angel should have been able to enter.

His first fleeting thought was that it had been Raphael fighting dirt by attacking Dean. His second was that it had been Balthazar, but it had been neither. He would have known both of their signatures intimately.

The angel who entered the beach house left no such signature.

Castiel felt rage and utter fear hit him in one tidal wave of pure force. The closest he had ever felt to this was when Lucifer had him in the ring, completely unable to help the Winchesters, but it was nothing compared to what he experienced now. He felt Jimmy’s body react with moistened palms, prickling hair, and tightly pulled pupils. At the same time, his celestial power—which he normally had complete control over—began to pour out of the vessel. If he had not appeared in a solitary part of the ocean, a human would have likely had a stroke as the lava-like light billowed out of his eyes and revealed the vague outline of wings. The desperation was exceedingly primal; for it reminded him of a jackle defending its mate, and there was no such precedent for an angel to feel like that.

The angel had been in the house. The angel had been in the house for some time.

 

 

The angel bumbled into the house as well as an angel could with a stumble, and appeared from thin air, landing in an awkward stance that suggested he was not entirely focused on the flight. Cas straightened himself up and glared daggers at Dean.

The angel’s voice came out sharp and deadly. “He was in the house.”

Dean stood up quickly from his place on the couch, setting his beer on the coffee table and holding palms out as one might to signal he was unarmed. “Dude, it’s okay.”

“It is _not,_ Dean!” The angel spit out. His voice sounded hoarse, like he might have swallowed razorblades. His eyes were determined and his brows drawn close. “If he can break past my wards, then he is most likely an extremely _pissed off_ archangel, which means that I will not be able to prevent him from marking you unless I go before he can also time jump.”

Dean shoved into the angel’s personal space and pressed a palm to either side his face, redirecting and forcing eye contact. “I _let_ him in, Cas!”

Castiel’s face seemed to fall from utter rage, to complete confusion. He blinked. “Why?”

“I needed to talk to him. Cas, he’s—”

The angel pulled away from Dean’s touch as if burned, eyes wide. “I don’t understand. Why would you?”

“I am trying to tell you—”

Castiel’s phone beeped. The angel held up a hand as he pulled his lips into a thin white line. “Yes? Oh…voicemail.” He punched in the number one.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. _Jesus Fucking Christ._

A relieved sigh seemed to escape Castiel’s mouth, and Dean watched his shoulders relax. He murmured softly as he continued to listen. “Sam, your timing is incredible.”

Dean stood with his arms crossed, leaning into the doorframe to the bathroom.

“I will have to thank you properly when I see you.” Cas hung up the phone.

“What?” Dean snapped.

“Your brother left me a voicemail earlier tonight. He found the date.”

Dean shrugged off the wall and dropped his hands to his sides. “The _date_ date?”

Castiel nodded as he placed his phone back into his pocket.

“How? Did he find a spell?”

“No,” Cas seemed to be grinning.

Dean stepped over to his friend. “What then?”

“Your mother kept a journal.”

“Excuse me?” Dean felt the skin around his eyes crinkle as he squinted. “So?”

“Your father put all your mother’s things worth keeping in Bobby’s attic.”

“Right, so?”

“Soooh,” Cas elongated the word to annoy Dean. “Sam and Bobby found nothing to help us narrow the search, so they chose to look through anything that might have indicated when you were marked. Your mother kept a pregnancy journal for both you and Sam, and she happened to mention Angelman visiting you on New Year’s Eve.”

“Are we sure it wasn’t just you looking in on me?”

Cas’s grin grew broad. “This particular entry states that Dean said ‘Angelman looked different.’”

Dean looked at Cas in his soft fitted tee shirt and jeans. In previous visits, he’d seen the trench coat form. “Well, yeah. That makes sense.”

“Yes. Clearly not me.”

“I don’t—”

“I have to go now.”

Dean was _really_ fucking tired of being interrupted.

“Cas…I’m not sure—”

“Dean I must do this _now_ if I am to do it at all!”

There was a fluttering panic over Dean’s features. “Cas! Think about this! The alley. The way he was warning me about—”

“Dean.” His blue eyes were like stone. “I _have_ thought of it. I will not harm him.” He gripped the sides of his human’s head, mimicking what the hunter had pulled before, and seemed to stare right into him. The pressure was actually slightly painful, but Dean figured he wasn’t going to be pulling away anytime soon.

“You _do_ love me?”

“Of course!” Dean’s eyebrows drew together. _Of course…_

“Then there is no more thinking to be done.”

Dean scrambled for the angel’s hand, as he stood. “Cas! No, wait—”

The hunter’s hand fell in midair as suddenly as his angel was gone. He pressed his palm to his face and screwed his eyes shut against threatening tears. Raphael. Cas would have no way to fight it. And Patrick…

“It’s you.” Dean groaned as he fell back onto the couch.

“Did I miss me?”

Dean’s head whipped around fast enough to hurt his neck. His angel stood there with red hair, as he looked down from his ginormus height.

“Why did you get a vessel so freakin’ tall?”

Cas smiled softly as he moved to sit next to his human on the couch. “He’s a hunter that you would have trusted, and he wanted to help.”

“Good guy?”

“Very good guy. You will work with him on a few hunts in the future.”

“That might be weird.”

Cas shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Dean stood from his over-dramatic fall into the couch cushions. His green eyes looked up to Patrick’s face with a sort of pleading. “Now-you is time jumping. He could tell you’d been here and he was gung-ho on stopping you. You gotta go after him dude.”

Castiel stiffened. “How did he know when?”

The human flung his arms into the air. “I don’t know how he knew you were here, and he wouldn’t shut up long enough for me to fucking _talk_ …” Dean eyed the taller man with a sort of “he’s your past-self, it’s _your_ problem,” glare.

The redhead must have found some patience in the time he’d spent on earth with children, because he only let out a soft smile at Dean’s minor fit. “I meant how did he discover the date?”

Dean stopped flailing idiotically. “Oh. My stupid brother.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Sam always did excellent research.”

“Bobby helped,” Dean added.

“Then there was no hope they would not find it,” the angel sighed as he picked up Dean’s half finished beer from the coffe table, then downed the rest.

Cocking a brow at the redhead, Dean stepped around the back of the couch to put on his boots. “Thought you didn’t like it.”

“I still don’t,” Cas answered quickly. “What are you doing?”

“I hunt better with shoes on,” stepped into the boot, then jumped to shove it onto his foot.

“You won’t be going.”

Dean stopped, then stood up straight. One boot was on, and the other lay beside his sock-foot. “Excuse me?”

Castiel gave him a hard look. “I don’t want you near Raphael. It is bad enough your child self will be exposed to him.”

“Exactly,” he stepped into the other boot. “He’ll be focused on little me. He won’t be expecting big me there with an angel blade, backing you up.” Dean stopped, crouched over. “Uh, I do get an angel blade, right?”

Patrick’s mouth formed a thin, tight line. Dean idly wondered if the man ever made that expression on his own without an angel controlling the ship. “Not going to happen, Dean.”

Dean stood and wiggeled into a more comfortable position within his boots. “Yep it is.”

“I am truly sorry, but no.”

“Mhm.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, and Dean was surprised at how much more human this Cas was. “No!”

“Cas!” Dean interrupted any idiot thing he could say. “Look, it isn’t just me in danger. _My_ Cas is also there, and I can’t just sit back while he’s in danger!”

The room was very quiet for a moment, the angel and hunter completing the stand-off with their eyes.  Green eyes stared into hazel with a familiar fire, and the angel knew he wasn’t winning this one. The human also knew when he’d won.

Dean grinned, breaking the tension. “Come on, two angels and a hunter against an archangel is better odds than just one being of celestial intent.”

Castiel grinned—and Dean wondered what it would be like to watch his angel adopt such a human expression over the years—then he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

“Three angels,” the mixed British accent affirmed.

Dean thought he was gonna have whiplash at this rate. “Balthazar. Are you _now_ you?”

The blond angel rolled his eyes, then adjusted his well cut charcoal gray jacket. “Yes I am from the present. Luckily, future Cas still knows who his true friends are. I’d summon myself, but I can’t seem to find me.”

“Those could be the lyrics to a 90s song.”

“Let’s move on, shall we? Have you got the date?”

Cas spoke up as the two stood from the couch in unison. “I do.”

 


	29. New Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important: 
> 
> First, thanks for your patience. This isn't dead, I've just had a helluva lot going on for the last few months. 
> 
> Second: I might be changing my pseudonym soon since Wanting Memories is actually my professional name. So there's a heads up on that if it occurs. If anyone has any opinions on the matter, please let me know. 
> 
> Thanks all! Carry on.

Dean didn’t really expect Angelman to visit tonight. Mommy and Daddy had let him stay up extra late tonight so that he could watch the ball drop, but the small child had fallen asleep on the couch anyway. He’d missed the music, but Daddy had nudged him awake in time to watch the illuminated ball slowly descend onto New York City. Dean imagined it must be what Angelman would look like if he appeared as the Christmas angel did before the famous manger scene.

It was the New Year, and that meant the angels were probably very busy getting the earth turned over for the change. Dean imagined that every year changing was like a pancake being flipped on a skillet. Only that the earth never burned, but just needed more and more cooking as more and more batter was added to each side. So the angels were surely in charge of the turning of the seasons as well as the turning of the years. Because of this, young Dean was certain he would not be seeing Angelman tonight.

Now he lay in his tiny bed with Teddy, his familiar security in the face of a night without Angelman—a night was he was surely very busy at work. Because he had a significant nap on the couch earlier, sleep was not coming to him quickly, and he stared at his ceiling and the shadows of the street lights through the tree. It used to be that those shadows would scare him, but Dean was no longer afraid of the dark places in the night.

His angel shone too brightly to allow anything bad to hide in the dark.

He rolled over in bed, away from the window, then saw a sudden flash as the shadows from the tree limbs disappeared briefly. The small boy sat up straight in bed, clutching his poor teddy bear, and looked wide-eyed out the window. A familiar, yet strange figure stood under the streetlamp, but Dean had no time to squint his eyes to focus because within seconds the figure was now beside his bed.

At first, Dean pulled back from the stranger’s presence, frightened of the unknown. His little hands clutched the covers as if the blankets themselves could protect him from this perceived threat. Then, the small child watched as the figure slumped down onto his knees and leaned against the bedside, as if woozy.

The boy peered over the comforter at the man, then recognition crossed his features. “Angelman!” Dean moved to his hero without the slightest remainder of caution.

Angelman was not okay—that much was clear. For one thing, he was dull, with no light causing a warm glow to spread out from his features. For another, the man was doubled over gasping, with one shoulder against the mattress for support. Dean immediately dropped to the ground in front of his angel, who now wore different clothes too. Had something happened? Was their trouble when the world was turned over?

Small hands reached out to the man’s face, and Dean cupped Angelman’s strong jaw in an awkward embrace. “Angelman, are you sick?”

Angelman coughed with those rough growling vocals that Dean originally confused for a monster. “I’ll be fine in a moment. Time travels take an awful lot from me.”

Dean didn’t really understand, but he assumed it had something to do with the New Year. He ran his fingers down Angelman’s cheeks, subconsciously checking for tears or cuts. Already caring for others, Dean smoothed the palms of his hands over roughened five o’clock shadow, then across his angel’s eyebrows, evening out the drawn expression.

Where was his glow? The boy rubbed his cheek against the man’s shoulder as he pulled closer for a full hug. Did he lose his glow because he was sick?

He knew he needed to be quiet and let Angelman get better before bothering him, but he couldn’t stop himself from checking on his friend. “Can I help?”

“You already are,” he spoke as if he’d been choking on something moments before, but his eyes were no longer pulled shut in pain. So, that was good. The man reached his hand up to Dean’s head, where he ruffled his hair. “Your soul is so bright in person. Being near you calms me.”

The child beamed at his friend, then pulled him closer for a full embrace, his arms clutching around the man’s neck. “Then don’t leave,” Dean provided as a solution.

Huffing softly in an almost laugh that the boy would eventually become very familiar with, Cas pressed a soft kiss to the boy’s temple. “Would that I could. I will make sure to visit more often.” And he meant it—until he would save the boy’s mother in the fall. Then he doubted the timeline would allow him the luxury. It was fine. With Mary alive, John would remain a devoted father rather than a devoted hunter, and the boys would grow up as they had always wished—normal.

He felt the small one pull back from him, then once again cup his jaw between his hands as he stared through his vessel and into his very being. Castiel was familiar with this expression of affection from the adult hunter, and it would seem it was something naturally within the man from the get-go. No one had taught him this was the way he should love. He’d learned it on his own, or it was instinctual. Castiel didn’t care. He enjoyed it while he could, and only hoped that the Dean from his timeline would remember him after he’d righted his past from the demon’s influence.

He had more pressing concerns tonight though.

“Dean,” the angel spoke, his eyes darting between the wide green orbs before him.

“Yes Angelman?”

Cas took Dean’s small hands in his, pulling them from his own face to hold them between the two of them. “It is necessary that I have your permission for something, and I want you well enough informed before you agree.”

The wording might have been too much for the boy, but it miraculously was not. Dean nodded his head solemnly, his brown hair bobbing slightly with the action. “I’m listening.”

Ancient as he was, the celestial being couldn’t help but smile at this child’s cooperation and attentiveness. Dean was indeed a special human naturally, and his young, undamaged and unbridled soul glowed fiercely in his vision.

“Dean, I would like your permission to place a mark on you.”

The boy’s eyebrows drew together. “Okay, what kind of mark? Like Mr. Teney’s tattoos?”

Cas nodded. “Something like that, only I will hide it under your hair.” The angel ruffled his head and Dean giggled lightly.

“Why hide it?”

“Well,” he was at a bit of a loss. There _was_ no reason to hide the mark, but he was certain Dean and his parents would not appreciate a permanent marking in a visible place. “It doesn’t half to be hidden, but I bet you’d like it to be in the future. When you’re deciding for yourself what you want to look like as an adult, I want you to have all the options possible. I suppose I could hide it somewhere else—perhaps your foot?”

Dean shook his head. “No the head is fine.” He was very much a child who wanted to please.

Castiel managed to pull himself from leaning against the bed, feeling a bit better from the initial shock of time travel, and he sat on the floor cross-legged. The boy mimicked the motion, sitting down on the carpet across from him, both in the beam of moonlight splashing across the floor from the window.

“This mark,” Castiel began, “it is much like a dog tag. Do you know what those are?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “It tells everyone where the dog’s home is, and who he belongs to.”

The angel inclined his head. “That’s exactly right. I want to be able to mark you like that. I want all other angels to know where you belong in case you get lost, and it will keep you safe.”

“Sounds good.” The boy bounced slightly with excitement in front of him.

Castiel held up his hand to quiet the boy and let him know that there was still more. “This mark will be as a claim. No other angel can have you. They may help you, you may pray for their help, and you can be friends with them, but I will be the only angel specifically for you. Do you understand Dean?”

He nodded again. Now came the part that Cas was certain the four-year-old would not fully grasp.

“It also means that you cannot...” He really wasn’t sure how to explain it to a child. “You will not be able to…marry another angel.”

The boy cocked an eyebrow at him and narrowed his eyes. “I can marry angels?”

“Well,” Cas sighed. “Not…normally. However, in special cases people can. If I give you this mark, you will not be able to marry other angels.” At the boy’s discontented expression, Castiel rushed on. “But you _can_ marry anyone else. Any human.” Or shifter, or werewolf, or whatever Dean wanted, but Cas didn’t want to tell him about the monsters yet. If ever.

Dean’s gaze fell to his lap for a short moment as his young mind sorted through the information that was just dumped on him. Castiel looked out the window, trying to feel for any sign of the other angel—the one in Patrick—but there was nothing yet.

The heart-shaped face seemed to scrunch up, then release as Dean finished his pondering, then returned his gaze to meet his Angelman’s. His brows were still drawn very tightly, and it was almost comical on such a young, unmarred face, but Cas did not laugh. He knew the child was analyzing and considering well beyond what should have been capable at his developmental level. And Dean Winchester thought he wasn’t smart. Dean Winchester was _highly gifted_ and _intelligent,_ and Castiel wished he could show him this example now.

“Other angels…” the boy murmured.

Castiel blinked, unsure if he should step in, but decided to anyway. “Yes?”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the angel, and Cas wondered how many times he would get to observe that expression before the night was up. “You said I would not be able to marry _other_ angels.”

“I did.”

The boy’s eyes seemed to saturate with color—such a very bold, dark green. “That means I could marry you.” It wasn’t even a question. Dean seemed capable of grasping the nuances of inferred language already.

“You…could.” Castiel was taken aback by the determined set of the child’s mouth.

“Then it is cool.” Dean nodded decisively.

Castiel sat breathless for a moment, still holding one of the boy’s small hands in his. The other—his left—had dropped into his small lap when he’d begun his arduous analysis of the situation.

The angel blinked repeatedly at the small boy, knowing full well that there was no way a four-year-old could make such decisions about his future. About the rest of his life.

And yet, he _had_ to ask. “Dean, do you want to marry me?” It sounded like a proposal, but was a genuine question about the boy’s expectations.

Dean smiled warmly, taking back the angel’s lost hand, and holding them both firmly. “You are the prettiest, nicest person in the world—well, after Mommy and Miss Missouri and I don’t want to marry them.”

Cas huffed again, but this time it was born out of surprise. “We shall see, but for now I have your permission to mark you?”

“Yes.” Dean stood, ready for the angel to administer anything he might need to in order to accomplish his goal. Castiel, angel of the Lord, followed the boy’s example and stood in front of him.

“I am so very pleased Dean,” he muttered low as he laid his hand on the crown of the boy’s head, weaving his fingertips into the soft locks.  Dean only smiled back and closed his eyes, as if awaiting a baptism.

The corner of Castiel’s mouth curled up. He shut his eyes as he prepared to gather his grace’s energy to focus into the palm of his hand. The mark would take much out of him, and he would most likely need to recover before he could travel back to his proper timeline. Preparing his reserves would help with the energy consumption.

He felt the familiar presence as soon as it entered the timeline. His eyes snapped open in alarm. This angel he could feel was not Patrick. No, it was much worse. Castiel, pulled Dean’s small body against him in what could only be described as instinctual, the boy’s head barely reaching his hip. He could feel _exactly_ where the archangel was—outside under the tree. The angel clutched the boy to him, and the child only held back just as tightly, but without the desperation.

_Raphael,_ Castiel felt for the first time what it was to feel sick to one’s stomach.

 

 


End file.
